


taste the regret (it's bittersweet.)

by surabayuh



Series: bang the war-drums [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Gen, Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, and Han kind of got dragged along the way, in which Darth Vader kind of learns about responsible parenting, kind of a subtle re-write of the movie, twins force bond a lot into play here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 94,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surabayuh/pseuds/surabayuh
Summary: Han Solo didn't want much, really; he only agreed to pilot his way away from the grips of Jabba the Hutt, and maybe have a little adventure along the way. That was why he said yes to that old man's offer, back in Tatooine, why he came back to aid the Rebellion, back in Yavin.But then again, who knew that somewhere down the line, he would have to be the middle-man in a galactic family drama that could determine the very fate of the universe?Well; certainly nothim.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Han Solo & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker, Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker & Han Solo
Series: bang the war-drums [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596073
Comments: 335
Kudos: 543





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! We're back with the continuation of this series, which this time takes the predominant perspective of Han... because I love 1 (one) disastrous smuggle and I feel like his arc and involvement is just as important, ehe. 
> 
> Neeways, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han contemplated his life choices while running from yet another Imperial wild goose chase with his favorite royalty. Meanwhile, Vader continued to be haunted by the nightmares; whether in his dreams... or reality.

Full disclosure; Han didn't think he would stick around this long. Or this far.

But, thinking back, maybe he kind of _did;_ with the Kid and his hopeful naivety and the Princess and her mischief streak combined with her brilliant smile. They both became the confidantes Han thought he never would have, a pair of friends that saw him for what he was, and still _stayed._

And then there was the rebellion; the bustling, bumbling, struggling Rebellion which was often times chaotic but still somehow finding a way to be warm and kind to him. He felt like he was welcomed as a member of a group, of a _family_ , for the first time in a long, _long while_. Even when he was about to leave, these people still treated him well, bid him farewell in the most respectful of manners.

Which was perhaps _why,_ beyond everything else, this setback felt so _personal_ to him.

"Winter is safe," Leia said, dejectedly, as she plopped on to a seat next to him. "Cap's badly injured, though; Fulcrum was tending him while we spoke." She sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Han was suspicious that she was trying to erase the tears just before they fell. "Lt. Antilles and Biggs also managed to escape—their ships carried about ten people each, and Admiral Ackbar and Chancellor Mothma is in there, so that's a relief."

Han knew it was the furthest thing of a relief, that Leia was just saying this to help her shove her feelings like she always had, so that she could work better. They had just been _attacked,_ after all; ambushed by giant AT-AT bots that demolished their base to the ground. Three years of progress, of rebuilding, restrengthening the Rebellion and _just like that,_ they were gone. 

"How's the Kid?" Asked Han, spinning his chair so he could face her. Leia shook her head, folding her legs closer to her chest, making herself seem small. Under the Falcon’s bright white lighting, Han could see the bags under her eyes, the puffiness in her lids. She had been aborting her cries for as long as Han could remember; always putting everything first and herself last. 

Leia shook her head, frowning. “I can’t reach him.” She said, and Han could already detect the thickness in her tone, the hitch in her voice. “Fulcrum said to keep trying, but it’s like—” She took a deep breath, shuddering, “it’s like he’s shutting out my calls, you know?” She furiously rubbed her eyes again. 

Han _didn’t_ know, actually. The siblinghood part he could sort of imagine, even if he didn’t have any siblings, real or adopted, but add that with the fact that the Kid and the Princess had this… Force mumbo-jumbo, space magic thing-y, that could make them _telepath_ for God’s sake, their twin experience was kind of completely lost on him. All the silent conversations, all the eerily in-sync work, heck, sometimes they’d even complete each other’s sentences, integrate ideas seamlessly. 

So no, Han didn’t really know, but looking at Leia, biting her lower lip as she worriedly gaze into the endless streams of stars in the hyperspace, he could guess how painful it was for her—to not know the wellbeing of a person so entrenched with her existence since conception. 

“Hey, if he can shut your calls, that’s good,” Han stood up, trying to soothe her. He put his hand on her shoulder rather awkwardly, hoping that he could convey some sense of calamity despite his own awry nerves. “That means he has the means to do it, and that means he’s _alive.”_

Touching her had the effect of making him blush for the _longest time,_ and every single never ending on his body _screamed_ at him to let go, distance himself from her, from _any of this,_ before he could get his feelings even further involved. Maybe that’s what started their fight this morning, when he (baited her) announced that he was about to leave the base and she ran after him. 

_“We need you!”_

_“‘We’, huh? And what about you, Princess?”_

_“What about—?!” Leia was flabbergasted, words temporarily lost on her, which was rare, in and of itself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“Oh come on, you don’t want me to leave because of what you feel about me!” And Han had hoped, hoped,_ **_hoped_ ** _that his hunch was true, his predictions were correct and she did feel for him the way he felt for her—_

Leia cleared her throat, pulling Han back to reality of right here, right now, in the Falcon, narrowly escaping the Empire for the _umpteenth_ time. “Okay,” She said, after several seconds of silence. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to try and convince herself of Han’s words, which kind of made his heart shatter a little bit. _“Okay.”_

Sighing, Han squeezed her shoulder a little tighter. He didn’t say a word when Leia leaned to his touch, purposefully snapped his mouth shut when she closed her eyes and her face relaxed. She didn’t need possible sources of embarrassment being pointed out to her, not now, not when everything that she had fought for was so close to shambles. 

He would do anything to keep that face of her, to keep the stress away from catching up to her. 

“And to think,” Leia spoke, after a while. “This morning I was fighting with _everyone.”_

Oh, _fighting_ was an understatement. Leia had been _yelling_ to everyone on her sight, her temper on edge since morning came and Luke had been dragged back half-to-death with hypothermia. She was antsy, telling everyone to prepare for an evacuation and blew off when people asked her _why._

_“I just—know, okay?!”_

_“Forgive me, your highness, but know_ **_what?”_ **

_Leia let out a noise of frustration. She didn’t say anything, words seemingly lost on her, which was frankly such a rare occurrence it made Han to stop and pause and_ **_think._ **

“Do you think Luke is shutting me off because of our fight this morning?” muttered Leia, almost inaudible with the buzz of the engines around them. “Because I told him to stay?” 

Han made a noncommittal sound. “Well, you did call the Kid very creative names,” He said, deliberately. “And you also said that he was, and I quote, _‘very stupid for listening to a hypothermia-induced hallucination.’”_

“But he was,” Leia grumbled then, almost indignantly, but even her protest fell flat. “He’s safe _here,_ with _us—_ why need to go on some forsaken swamp-planet to meet a person no one had ever even _heard?”_

“Fulcrum seemed to know him.” Han pointed out, trying his best to keep his tone even. “And besides, I have a feeling this is less about him, or me, or _any of us,”_ He emphasized the last part, and then he was maneuvering himself so he would be facing her, crouching down to get on her level. “And more about _you.”_

At that, Leia seemed to tense, and Han could see as she put her walls back up, put her defenses out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” when she spoke, she sounded like Princess Organa, the Rebellion Tactician, and not Leia, his _friend._

“Come on, Your Worship,” he said her nickname in such a soft tone, hoping that Leia could notice the familiarity, notice the implications he was trying to put. “It’s just me. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He gazed into her eyes, brown and wary and distrustful to anything, to _anyone._

“I’m not hiding anything,” Leia said as she averted her gaze from him. Under this light Han could see the hollowness of her cheeks, the glassy mist reflected in her eyes as she looked away.

Han narrowed his eyes, not buying that by one bit. “Are you sure?” He said, and now he was prying, probing, _trying_ to understand her. “Because this morning, when you told everyone to evacuate before the ambush had arrived—” 

He meant to only point it out, meant it to be a sign that he _noticed,_ he wanted to _help._ But Leia’s eyes flashed, and Han could see the anger, rising high as quick as it came as she straightened herself, looking at him in pure disbelief. “If you’re suggesting that I have _anything_ to do with the ambush—” 

Raising his hands at the sudden flare of anger, Han immediately backtracked. “I’m not suggesting _anything—”_

“I am the Leader of this Rebellion; I _serve_ these people, their interests—the last thing that I would _ever_ do is to _betray_ them in any way or form, something that you clearly don’t care for—” 

“Hey, I _care_ about this fight just as much as you do; why do you think I stick around for so long?!”

“You wanted to leave, though, didn’t you? Just like everybody else, just like—”

Han’s eyes widened when he realized what was going on. _“Leia,”_ He said, tone dropping as he lowered his hand, trying to come off as calm as possible. “Leia, look at me _,”_ He said, and then his hands were on her shoulders again, looking at her with as much emotions he could muster. _“breathe.”_

Whatever she was throwing at him to steer away their discussion, he wasn’t going to take her bait. He wasn’t going to let her bury her problems in anger and work like she usually did—she deserved better than that. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” He said, trying to convey as much genuinity as he could muster. 

Leia looked at him oddly, like he was losing his mind, but Han waited—stared at her expectantly and took both her hands and _waited._ He wasn’t a patient man, but for her, he would _try._

“It’s just.” 

_Ah, there it was._

Leia took a deep breath, freeing one hand to smoothe the wrinkles on her pants. “I’ve been having these— _visions.”_ She said, and Han could see the budding frustration getting to her nerves. “Of this man; tall, with sandy blonde hair.” She paused, taking a deep breath, “His face is blurred, but from afar he kind of looks like _Luke.”_

There was something unspoken in there, something Leia seemed to have guessed but not dared to say out loud, so Han waited. Waited as Leia sorted herself, pulling her hand from him to tuck the loose strands of her braids. “It’s— _rare;_ tempered down because of the mind-shields. And most of the times it was just him, asking me to join him on— _whatever,_ I don’t _know,_ but _yesterday—”_ She said, softly, and then her hands wrapped around her knees, hugging herself tighter. “He just told me to _run.”_

Something inside Han’s mind clicked. “Was that _why—”_ He said, carefully. _This morning. Leia barking at everyone to pack it up, to move out, to evacuate_ ** _right now—_** “You were ordering everyone to leave the base, this morning. Was that why?” 

Leia shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but Han knew that she was— _haunted,_ by whatever this was. It wasn’t a secret that Leia had practically _refused_ to use the Force for anything other than contacting Luke and shielding her own mind, despite Fulcrum’s coaxing and Luke’s persuasion. She was— _traumatized_ was an easy way to put it, but even the word couldn’t really illustrate how _afraid_ Leia was to her own powers.

 _(once, he had found her curling up on one of the couches in the meeting room right in the middle of the night, putting her right hand as far from her as possible. There was a shuura fruit falling next to the couch, and she trembled as she said, “I didn’t even try to summon it.” her voice was wavering, her eyes wide and_ **_afraid,_ ** _“I didn’t even—it just_ flew, _I swear I didn’t—”_

_He lowered down, cradled her in his arms till daylight broke and people started waking up. Neither spoke of it for the rest of the days.)_

“I don’t know who that man is.” Leia said, more to herself than to him, he realized. “I don’t know why he’s—he’s in my _head—”_ She placed her forehead to her palms, almost pushing it with her hands, as if by doing so he could get the man _out._ “But his voice—was the same _voice.”_ She managed, weakly. “The one that told me to—run, back in the Death Star, and—” She gulped, “back in the Yavin base.” 

Han paused, looking at her intently. Leia was biting her chafed lips, blood red already breaking at the surface of her skin. “Have you ever told anyone about this?” He asked, “Fulcrum—or Luke? He had visions of—of Ben, so maybe—”

Leia shook her head. “It was _different,”_ Said she, and she sounded _miserable and afraid, just like that night with the shuura fruit half-floating mid-air—_ “This was something _else._ I feel like—” She shuddered, “Like I know, I was being _invaded,_ but he somehow felt so _soothing_ at the same time. _”_ She lifted her fingers, biting her nails down. “And this man was—a _mess._ Even when he was quiet I could feel that he was almost _always angry._ Not at me, but _angry,_ in general. And he’s—” She paused, retracting, _thinking._ “I just—when he’s around, I—” She shook her head, “I feel like I can’t follow him. Whatever he’s offering, wherever he’s _going_ , it’s—” Leia took a deep breath, “it’s down to a path that I can’t follow.” 

And then Leia opened her mouth, closed it again, before opening them again and saying, “I’m afraid, Han.” She said, and this time it was her hand, reaching him out, trying to find solace in his touch. 

Han fought every single instinct in himself to _back up, put some distance, don’t get too attached._ Instead he looked at her, traced his thumb at the back of her hand, wondering. “Of what, Leia?” 

But she just shook her head, pressing her lips into a thin line, letting the hum of the hyperspace fill the silence between them. Someway, somehow, Han could feel that even she didn’t know the answer to his question. 

Han felt her gaze at him, though. Felt her eyes almost begging for some reassurance, some peace of mind from him, so he cleared his throat and said, “Whatever it is,” he looked at her, and gave her a tentative, “I got your back, alright?” 

And Leia—strong, firm Leia, who wouldn’t let just anyone witness her when she cracked, when she was confused, when she was afraid; who had chosen him to share that—cracked a small, soft grin in return. 

“I know.”

* * *

_“Liar.”_

_He was in that room again, in cell 2187, with the princess rising above him,_ lifted _by the force as she spluttered, heaving for air. Something in Vader’s chest creeped out, and it took him a while to actually recognize it as dread._

 **_Stop it,_ ** _he screamed in his mind, but his hand only squeezed harder, lifted her higher._ **_Stop it, no, you’re hurting her, stop—_ **

_“Stop it—” The Princess choked her words, “I’m your daughter, stop it, please—”_

_Vader snarled, and from his fingertips emerged a stream of lightnings, strumming her, causing her to scream, before he dropped her like she was a burning coal, and she crashed onto the ground, falling with a loud thud. Her body crumpled like a broken doll, and he wanted to scramble closer, but his feet felt like it was being chained to a weight. Her body was smoking from the brunt of the lightning, as she took labored breaths, coughing_ blood—

 _“Leia—” He spoke, when he finally reached her. Her face half-scarred, just like him, and her neck was red with handprints and blood, and he realized that it was_ his _doings, him putting those marks on her. “Leia no, no, no, no, no—”_

_The Princess opened her eyes, and suddenly she was smaller, younger—the toddler Organa used to bring at Senate meetings. When she spoke, her voice was childish, croaky and afraid. “Daddy—” Vader could see scarlet, trickling down her tiny mouth._

_“Leia, darling, stay awake, please—”_

_“Why are you—” More coughs, more blood, her skin growing paler and paler and it was_ odd, how did he realize that when his vision was all tinted red _— “why are you hurting me, Daddy—”_

_“I didn’t mean to, Leia, hey, look at me—Leia—”_

_She stuttered her last takes of breath, shuddering, “Why d’ya kill me, Daddy—” before rolling her eyes, and her body was cold, cold,_ cold, _and Vader scrambled for a pulse to find nothing at all. It was just a corpse, he made her a corpse, he_ killed _her—_

_“No, Leia, I’m sorry, please, no, no—”_

_“What have you done, Ani?” There was a feminine voice coming from somewhere, a familiar voice as he clutched the corpse of his daughter close to his chest, begging to whoever, whatever to make her breathe,_ breathe— _“What have you done to our daughter?”_

_He cradled Leia tighter, could feel his cheeks wetting as he begged for her understanding. “I didn’t mean to, Padme I swear, I didn’t know, I swear—”_

_Leia’s skin was cold to his touch, and he tried to make it warm, but it was no use; she was dead, dead,_ dead—

Vader woke up with a gasp. 

_[You are finally awake.]_ Said the Med-Droid, using his perfected matter-of-fact tone. Around him, the lamps was too bright, the room way too _cold._ It took him awhile to realize that he was in his hyperbaric chamber, without his suit encasing him. 

Narrowing his eyes, Vader tried to recall what had happened before he woke up. 

_The probe Droid, alerting the rebel location at Hoth, despite his best attempt to disable or malfunction most of them—_

_The Emperor, commanding the launch of AT-AT bots immediately—_

_Him reaching Leia—a growingly difficult attempt as time goes by—telling her to run, run as fast as she could as he oversaw the massive destroyers being dispatched, anxiety gnawing in his gut—_

_Him being electrocuted when the Emperor found out that the Boy wasn’t captured or murdered in the attack, despite how many Rebellion higher ups had been killed—_

_[Lord Vader,]_ chided his med droid, _[You should not stretch out to the force so soon after barely surviving from being electrocuted.]_

Vader made a non-committal sound, opting to ignore the Droid altogether. Instead he sought for the presence he had grown to know so well across the universe for the past three years, trying to ensure her wellbeing. 

_Leia,_ he called out in relief when he found her—dimmed and faraway but he had _found her,_ somewhere in deep space where the Emperor’s men couldn’t reach her. She was safe, safe, _safe_ and that was what mattered. 

Almost as soon as she realized his gentle probing, She tensed up, slamming her walls and ejecting him out. Vader’s relief turned into something sour— _anger,_ burning and unfurling within his chest, like an awakened Krayt dragon. 

His own daughter had continued to reject him, had _feared him,_ even when he was using his old face, the Jedi’s face to get through her. He even _compromised,_ used the Light whenever he reached out to her, but she still wouldn’t listen, would just push him back out. 

Why won’t she _listen_ to him, when he could offer her everything, could lay the universe down at her feet?

 _Too much like her mother,_ a dark part in Vader mused. _Too much like Padme, and for that she should be punished as well, for betraying you, for refusing you—_

Vader shook his head, putting a cap on his own thoughts before it could lead to anywhere close to _that._ It was tempting—to use his powers to bend her to his wills, but—the last time he had done it, the love of his life, his _wife,_ the mother of his _daughter had—_

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, so he shook his head. There would be other ways, other methods to persuade her, and then she would do what her mother couldn’t, she would _follow_ him and—

 **_And do what, exactly?_ ** Said a voice, **_what are you asking her to follow, Anakin?_ **

Vader tensed up, recognizing that voice immediately. _That name,_ he hissed in his mind, _means nothing to me._

Kenobi hummed, softly, as if Vader’s agitation had amused him. **_Apologies, Lord Vader,_ ** he said, and there was a slight chuckle as he said ‘Lord Vader,’ there, Vader could almost _feel it._ **_But I was just wondering for your goal, here. What exactly will the Princess be, if she follows you?_ **

Vader snarled, ready to reply until he realized that he didn’t know the answer to that question. _She—_ he hesitated, and he could almost _see_ Kenobi’s face growing coy as he waited for him, his smile unfurling, infuriating him, _she would be mine!_

 **_And what would that entail, hm?_ **Kenobi continued, his amusement only heightening. 

_Why would it matter to you?_ Anakin could feel his anger heightening, as he clenched his fist in a futile attempt to control his anger. _You’re no part of this. Of any of this. In fact—you’re the reason this_ needed _to be done._

**_I just wonder what Leia would think about your plans, that’s all._ **

Vader almost snarled at the mention of her name. _You are unworthy of mentioning the name I gave her._ He said, fury lacing his words, _now get out of my head, Traitor!_

He could feel Kenobi withering away from his head then, resigning his presence. **_You have a chance again, my boy,_** he said, somberly, **_don’t ruin it by repeating the past, yes?_** Were his last words before he fully dissipated. 

Words hitched on Vader’s throat as he tried to reply to thin air, with nothing in his mind coming up to give Kenobi something, _anything._

The past. 

_The past._

_“Ani, you’re breaking my heart! You’re going to a path that I can’t follow!”_

Gritting his teeth, Vader let out some of his tension—anger, frustration, confusion, _longing—_ to the force, and _shattered_ some of the wirings around him, most of the vials, heck, even cracked his own walls, causing the Med-Droid to beep in surprise. 

_[Lord Vader! You popped out the newly stitched wounds!]_

Vader made a non-committal sound, trying to brush off his stinging gash, and instead rose to himself. It was difficult, without his suit present and his artificial limbs attached. But Vader managed, sitting on the medical slab, heaving. 

Kenobi was wrong. His worries were futile—for Vader was stronger now, better; he learned how to control himself better, learned how to use the Force better—

_He wouldn’t repeat the past._

_(“Why are you hurting me, Daddy?”)_

_Would he?_

There was a _ping_ from the comms, and then someone called for him. _“The Emperor is summoning you to the throne room, Lord Vader,”_ said the person, almost warily. _“He wants you present immediately.”_

His Med-Droid grumbled something about disrespecting the importance of health, but every single being knew that the Emperor’s wishes could not be denied, so Vader braced himself as the suit was tuned back to his body, only slightly wincing when the wirings were connected with the nerve systems of his limbs. He was good at that; holding pain in, not letting it shown. 

When he stepped his feet back to the ground they were wobbly, but they would have to do. Banishing his thoughts of Leia to the locked, dark part of his mind so the Emperor couldn’t seek for it, Vader took a deep breath and led himself to where his Master had resided. 

Darth Sidious was an old, withering man, but he still held so much power over the government, over _Vader,_ and no matter how much Vader wanted to annihilate him right now, something held him back. _Not yet,_ something in his mind had said, _not yet._

So instead he worked hard to dim his powers, averted Sidious’ men’s loyalty to him, trying his best to start involving himself in back-alley politics. There was no use of killing the Emperor if his Kingdom was still running under the Sith Master’s favor, and so Vader made sure that when the Emperor was truly dead, then he could be the one giving orders, the one fully reigning without his claim questioned. 

He would prepare the Kingdom to bend to his wills, then he would lay it down to Leia’s feet. That had been the plan. That was the answer of Kenobi’s question, Vader realized—he would make her _Empress,_ just like he had planned to do with Padme. 

**_I just wonder what Leia would think about your plans, that’s all._ **

Vader shook his head, trying to banish Kenobi's voice from his mind. That man had done nothing but haunt him in the oddest of moments, giving him cryptid takes on his situations. Vader wanted to throttle him, to throw him _somewhere_ for being so incessantly persistent, but the dead were untouchable. Unbothered.

 _But Kenobi was right._ A voice reminded him, small and hesitant but determined anyway. It took him awhile to realize that it was his own voice, the one he used to have when most of his body was still organic and he led a very different life—

_What would Leia think?_

"Lord Sidious." He kneeled before the Emperor, shoving his thoughts deep and hidden. "Have you summoned me, Master?"

"Good to see you back at your feet, Lord Vader." Said Sidious, as if he wasn't the one knocking him off from his feet to begin with. "Rise, my Apprentice."

Vader did, thankful that his mask was hiding his contempt. "What is thy bidding, My Master?" He said, his venomous voice masked by the vocal modulator. 

_He would get his revenge soon. He would, he would—_

"The rebellion," said the Emperor, looking away from Vader to look at his viewing deck. "They have an asset. That boy—" Sidious shook his head, "his force presence is so strong, it could annihilate us." The Emperor's voice soured. "We must eliminate him. Him and that stubborn, _pesky_ Princess of Alderaan. It is the only way to ensure the Rebellion's destruction."

Vader's heart halted, his breath stuttering for a split second. _The Princess,_ the Emperor had said. _His daughter;_ the Emperor still wanted to target his _daughter._

“The Princess, Your Highness?” Vader’s voice from the modulator was smooth, but inside he was croaking, trying his best to get the words out. _Why the sudden interest? Why suddenly see her?_

Sidious made an impatient noise, “That Princess is a _nuisance.”_ He glowered, feet tapping at the floor incessantly. “Her power lays in her words, and many planets are joining the Rebellion because of her persuasion.” He shook his head. “We must put an end to all these traitors, these _separatists.”_

“But—” Said Vader, carefully, trying not to display emotions at the surface despite the gnawing fear brimming at his chest, begging to be spilled, “she is powerless,  _ weak,  _ a mere diplomat.” The insults to Leia’s bravery, her  _ brilliance,  _ felt bitter in his tongue, but he had to push through, he had to  _ protect her.  _ “Specifically aiming to maim her would be a waste of resources—” 

“Hmph.” Snorted Sidious, shaking his head, “This is the reason why I am the master and you are the apprentice,  _ Vader.”  _ He sneered, not even sparing a glance at him as he faced the glass walls before him, displaying the sparkling town of the Imperial Center spread below. “I simply see  _ more  _ than what you  _ see;  _ I am always  _ one step  _ ahead of you.” 

The gnawing fear in his gut  _ dropped,  _ like a ball made of heavy iron, and Vader used all his might not to show surprise, or panic, at the surface of his own force presence, while desperately probing for the feelings Sidious had displayed in their bond. 

_ Did he know—?  _

It took several minutes for him to finally compose a reply, and it was only because he was slightly relieved upon knowing that Sidious didn’t seem to know Leia’s significance, or specifically, his relations to her. “Still, my Lord,” He gritted his teeth, trying to stand his ground before him despite the very possible threat of receiving another Sith lighting. “I do not think that pursuing her is a strategic manner.” 

Sidious seemed to consider it, his deliberation and thoughts echoing in the Force. He didn’t say anything for such a long time, and the terror within him gripped him tight like vice, cold and sharp and prickling him in all of the wrong places.

Images of Leia, scarred and ruined by Sith Lightnings in his dream, slammed back at Vader at full force it almost took his breath away. Vader tried his best to contain his thoughts, but it was _hard,_ with images of her, shivering and looking afraid as she slipped away from his arms, withering away—

_“Why are you hurting me, Daddy?”_

_He wouldn’t repeat the past. He wouldn’t._

_(Would he?)_

“The boy, on the other hand..." Vader continued, desperately trying to subtly bargain, "he is strong in the force,” he tried to keep his tone even, remembering his last encounter with him, during the destruction of the Death Star. “Perhaps focusing on capturing him would be a great asset to the Empire—something to turn the tides.” 

“Capturing the boy?” Muttered Sidious, his voice upturned and Vader could feel his interest growing in the force. “Yes… and then maybe you can tempt him, turn him—or _torture him,_ depending on how he would react…”

“Precisely, Master.” 

_Distract him away from Leia. Make him forget of ever mentioning his daughter._

Sidious hummed, his voice turning a tad more sinister as he nodded, slowly. “Very well, Lord Vader… bring me the boy… we shall see what we can use of him.” He said, the corners of his mouth unfurling into an unnatural grin. 

Vader almost rushed his replies, words stacked up haphazardly as he said, “It will be done, my master,” before turning back to his chambers, shielding his warring emotions. 

He should feel relieved at the fact that his Master was asking for the boy instead of the Princess—his Princess, _his—_ but instead he felt a deep gnawing at the pit of his stomach, something that told him that he was missing something, forgetting _something—_

Kenobi had prevented him to murder that boy, all those years ago, and the feeling—the feeling that caused him to let the boy fly back to his base, unscratched, had climbed up his nerves, filled his thoughts. 

**_If you shoot that boy, Anakin,_** **_you will find yourself sinking in a pool of regret deeper than the one you're already drowning right now._**

Maybe this was the boy’s purpose; to be a distraction so that the Emperor wouldn’t pursue his daughter—or better yet, to be twisted as an asset under his wing, an aid for his personal plans. The Emperor did task him with the responsibility of tipping the boy to the Dark. 

_(Nevermind that Vader himself had continued to lessen his use of the Dark, mindful of his own powers in fear that he could accidentally reach to his daughter using it—)_

Yes, that was it. That was most definitely the boy’s purpose. That was why Kenobi didn’t want him to be killed, back then. 

Still—

_(he was missing something, forgetting something, skipping something important—)_

Growling, Vader shook his head, banishing the thoughts away from his mind. “It will be done,” He said, more to himself than to anyone else. He would turn the boy, dangled him with the chance of offering safety for his friends, and he would twist him into his personal apprentice, his right-hand as they laid the Galaxy to Leia’s feet. 

_And what would Leia think about it?_

Gritting his teeth, Vader repeated the mantra, over and over again;

“It will be _done.”_


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All members of the Skywalker household could really use a healthy communication and conflict resolution class, or two.

_ "No!” _

The green frog-like creature was eating his sausage. 

The green frog-like creature was eating his  _ goddamn sausage, _ one that was part of the sandwich Biggs had made for him this morning before he hastily departed from the base to seek for this godforsaken  _ planet.  _

Luke could feel his cheeks reddening as annoyance started to climb up to his nerves, clenching and unclenching his hands as he glared at the oblivious frog-like sentient munching his  _ goddamn sandwich _ . Leia’s words earlier were cruel, but perhaps she was  _ right.  _

_ "Oh, sure, listen to the ghost of the dead Old Man that appeared in your hypothermic episode." she threw her hands up, exasperation coloring her tone. She'd been antsy all morning, Luke sensed, even before he arrived, but—his announcement had elevated the annoyance into a full-blown fit. "Go on, then, leave like the rest of them; go to that forsaken swamp planet. Maybe when your freighter crash face-first into murky, six-foot-deep water, then you'll realize how unbelievably  _ stupid  _ you're being right now!"  _

_ Behind her, Han and Ahsoka just stood there with a tired face, and Luke had a feeling that they themselves had experienced a similar outburst very recently before. The smuggler just shrugged, rather helplessly, as if telling him to let her have at it. _

Remembering it made Luke wince. Her bluntness, her choice of words, they were all… judging; damning. He felt—hurt, that all these things were coming from her, because he thought that she, of all people, would understand all this better than anyone else; would understand Old Ben's importance to him, would understand his yearning to learn what their bloodline had claimed to be.

_ ("I want to really be a Jedi," Luke had said, almost all the time. That was the reason he trained with Ahsoka—however unwilling the spy was. That was the reason he kept on seeking for Ben's whispers in his mind, asking for guidance. That was the reason he kept bringing his father's saber everywhere he went. "Truly study the lores, the art, the skills that they teach." _

_ Legacy, he realized; he wanted to preserve the legacy he was previously denied to—wanted to be able to connect to someone long gone.  _

_ Leia had taken his hand to hers, and would always mutter the same reassurance. "You can." She looked up to him. "We can find a Jedi Master out there for you, One day. After this blasted war ends." _

_ "But what if it never ends?" _

_ He could feel Leia tensing, her grip on his hand tightening. "It will end." She said, quietly, in a tone of finality Luke didn't dare to object.) _

He had stormed out on her, then—and the next thing he knew, the whole attack  _ happened,  _ and they were suddenly not brother and sister fighting, but a commander and a general collaborating, assessing their best to both strike a defense and salvage what they could. They had been separated, and he had instead decided to come here instead of going to the rendezvous. 

He knew that it was a petty move to reject her probes, all the way ‘till he crash-landed, but he couldn’t help it.  _ He would prove his sister wrong,  _ he thought back then;  _ he was not being unbelievably stupid at this _ . 

_ (He was trying to help her. Can't she see that? If he was a Jedi, then he could fully fight; for this war, for the freedom, for  _ her.) 

But then again, her predictions fulfilled itself, and now he was stuck with a stealing amphibious sentient munching down his meal before his disbelieving eyes. 

“Put that down, that’s my dinner! My boyfriend made that!” He said, hastily taking the rest of the meal box from the creature. The senile old— _ thing  _ looked up at him, almost like he was simply curious, before continuing his quest to rummage through Luke’s stuff.

Luke sighed as he looked at the sausage in his hands. There was already bite marks from when the creature attempted to munch it, and—well, so much for dinner. No sausage for his sandwich, he guessed.

_ Force,  _ he knew they had just fought, and he still didn't want to talk to her, but—he missed Leia. She'd be much stricter about people taking their food. More menacing. 

_ [Luke! Your compartments!]  _

Artoo’s concerned beeps made Luke whip his head up, and sure enough, the senile sentient was trashing through his stuff, throwing things haphazardly behind him without a care. “Hey, stop that!” Luke groaned, lifting and pulling the little creature away with one hand. “You’re making a mess!” He grumbled, putting the old man down, then crouching down at him like he was scolding one of the naughty rascals vandalising Uncle Owen’s farm. He recalled what Aunt Beru used to say about granddad Cliegg; that withering age could make a person regress—whether physically or emotionally. Perhaps this, too, happened to the old man before him, who looked at him with those still-earnest eyes, as if he had not done any wrong. 

Force. He really missed Leia. She would have had the patience, the tenacity to deal with even the most annoying individual. She would know what to do. 

There was a loud noise, a hungry stomach churning, coming from the old man. Sighing, Luke re-handed him his sausage. “Here, eat this.” He said, giving him the meal back. 

The old man’s pointy ears rose slightly, and he tilted his head, “your dinner, you said,” he said, in that odd, reverse-sentence speech of his. 

“Yeah, but you had bitten it anyway, so,” Luke sighed, resignation written all over his face. “Go on, eat it. I know you’re hungry.” He nudged the sausage a little bit to the small creature, watched as his little clawed hands retook the piece of meat and bit it, almost hesitantly. 

The hesitance was gone as quick as he came, though, when he realized that Luke wasn’t going to scold him. Instead he pat Luke's legs, as if looking for something, his little clawed hands  _ everywhere  _ and then—

"Hey, give it  _ back!"  _

Too late did he realize that the old man was snatching his father's lightsaber from his waist. "This, what is?" He muttered, fascination clear on his tone as he click his claws to its hilt.

Luke snatched it, rather rudely—thankful that the ray of blade hadn't come out. "That's my father's lightsaber." His voice was pitched higher now, his patience thinning. "My mentor gave it to me. It's a really dangerous weapon." He gave the old man a glare.

Something flashed, in the old man's eyes, and for a second Luke thought it was some recognition, some  _ sensibility, _ because when he spoke next he was quieter, less exuberant. "Your father's, you say?" 

Luke's hostility dimmed down, piqued by the odd tone the man was using. "Yeah, he—" he paused, clutching the hilt tighter as he recalled what Ben had told him. "he made it himself." 

_ (On days when he felt so alone, when even Leia's presence couldn't be the balm of his aching, gaping loneliness, Luke would clutch the saber tight to his chest, reminding himself; his father had made this, his father had made this— _

_ Once upon a time, there was someone related to Luke, someone who had left him a legacy—) _

There was a quiet hum from the man, eyes trailing at the saber's hilt, then to Luke's face, before he turned, sharply, back on his agenda; scurrying along to scavenge more stuff of Luke’s—much to his resigned protest. “So many interesting things, you have!” He said, picking up the small flashlight Luke had packed, just in case. “An adventure, you seek?” 

“Not an adventure,” Luke grumbled, “I’m here looking for a powerful Jedi Master—My old mentor told me he’d be here—” He frowned, thinking about Ben’s ghost, coming and going whenever he pleased, so often making Luke wonder if he was truly crazy, “but seeing this place—I’m not so sure about it anymore.” 

And then the old man’s smile only grew bigger, as if Luke had said something truly exciting. “Seeking for Yoda, you are.” He said, and there was an amused glint in his eyes when he spoke. His sentence, in and of itself, was not a question. He slowly turned to Luke, wagging the hand that held the sausage at him before taking another bite. His other hand tapped the flashlight to Artoo’s exterior in rhythm, as if trying to time Luke’s answer.

Luke paused, narrowing his eyes at the small old man. “How did you—?”

His Droid chose that exact time to screech, apparently fed up with the way Yoda kept on tapping his body, and let out his small claw to take back the small flashlight. Gone was the slightly coherent old man before him, and returned his senile self as he hit back to Artoo full-force in an attempt to keep the flashlight in his grip. 

_ [This is of Luke’s, give it back right now!] _

“Mine, mine, mine!” 

“Okay, okay!” Luke immediately crouched between the droid and the old man, extending both hands to separate them. “Everybody take it down a notch, alright?” He said, impatiently, as he declawed the flashlight from Artoo’s strong grip. “Here. you can take the light. Artoo won’t take it from you.” Luke turned at Artoo, giving him a warning look. “Right, Artoo?”

_ [But the tool is of yours—!] _

_ “Right,  _ Artoo?” Luke reiterated, raising an eyebrow.  _ Come on, Buddy, help me a little here.  _

The Droid finally released a few disgruntled trills that was less than pleasant to hear, and Luke only hoped that the old man was unable to translate it. The old man himself seemed to take a personal vendetta against Artoo, because he hit the Droid one last time with his forgotten staff, causing Artoo to yelp in such a foul binaryspeak Luke kind of wanted to drown himself in embarrassment. 

“A naughty one, Your Droid is,” Gruntled the old man, as he switched the flashlight off. 

Patting Artoo’s head to soften the blow of the insult, Luke opted to not address it. Instead, he asked the man, earnestly. “Do you know Yoda?” His tone was almost breathless, hopeful. 

The old man was now smiling coyly, looking back at Luke. “Do you not?” He asked, eyes filled with mirth. Luke had a feeling that he was testing him—of  _ what,  _ he didn’t know. But it was nighttime, his entire cargo was either submerged into a swamp or tossed mindlessly to Force-knows-where, and his patience was wearing thin. 

“Well I don’t exactly have a holo of him laying around here somewhere.” Grumbled Luke, straightening himself. “Even if I did, you’ve probably tossed it off. It’s probably sinking deep in the mud as we speak.” 

The old man had the audacity to laugh—no,  _ cackle— _ then, as if Luke had said something funny. “So you do not.” He said, eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief, which only irritated Luke even more. 

“Look, if you wanna waste my time talking in riddles, then I’m not gonna play your game.” Said Luke, dusting his clothes of. He tried to recall Ahsoka’s description of the old Master, determined on finding the man himself if this odd person wasn’t going to help him. “Can’t be that hard to find an ancient Jedi who talks in an— _ odd…”  _ Luke trailed off, watching the frog-like creature before him, who was tilting his head up in a seemingly expectant manner. “... _ no.”  _

The old man simply tilted his head higher, as if daring Luke to say more.

"You—" Luke paused, doubt creeping into him. It couldn't  _ be,  _ could it? "You can't be  _ Yoda."  _ He scoffed to himself, because what a joke, right. But the man raised his eyebrows at him, and something in Luke's gut was floored; like a punch of clarity right in his gut. "You're  _ Yoda?"  _

The old man simply blinked and asked, amusement coloring his tone. "Be Yoda, why can't I," he raised his free hand, slowly, and a pebble  _ followed,  _ hovering mid-air.  _ "Luke Skywalker?" _

Okay.  _ No.  _ "Because—" Luke said, spluttering on his words, his eyes widening. "Because you're—" old, kind of crazy, had no sensibility, ruining his compartments, eating his dinner— "because you're  _ you!" _

And then suddenly gone were the senility, the borderline craziness he previously exhibited. Instead he looked up, slightly, seeing something behind Luke, and said, “no patience nor tact, the boy has.” 

Whipping his head to the direction of the old man’s— _ Yoda?— _ sight, Luke found nothing behind him. He turned back, narrowing his eyes at the old man— _ Master Jedi?— _ and asked, almost accusingly, “Are you talking to someone?” 

But instead Yoda ignored him, eyes focusing on that blank spot behind Luke, talking as if he was chattering about the weather. “Much of his father’s traits, he possess,” he said, and somehow Luke had a feeling that he meant it as a  _ bad thing,  _ “but his kindness—his mother’s, that was.” 

Yoda then leaned slightly, as if trying to hear what the empty spot had to say. He listened with such intention that Luke was almost taken aback. Almost as if… he was seeking wisdom from it. 

Something clicked in his mind, then. 

“are you… speaking with a force-ghost?” 

The old man finally,  _ finally  _ looked up from the spot, raising his chin highly to meet Luke’s face. “A force-ghost, you say?” he asked, and now he was sounding… generally curious. The twinkle in his eyes brightened, his brows rising. 

“My friend told me about it,” Luke scrambled to elaborate, trying to make himself not look like a fool. “she said when a strong, esteemed Jedi died, they, uh—how did she say it? Oh, yeah—manifested as a guiding part of the force.” He shrugged, before launching back. 

Yoda hummed. "Knowledgeable, your friend is." Said Yoda, almost cheekily. "Need you to come here, I wonder why."

Okay. The rhetoric had—stung. It was as if the old man himself didn't expect him to be here. Didn't  _ want  _ him to be  _ here. _

_ Maybe Leia was right. Maybe he was being unbelievably stupid. _

_ Force, he missed her.  _

Luke swallowed the hurt, trying to refocus himself on the question he wanted to ask. "The force-ghost." He said, carefully. “Was it—was it Ben?"

"Ben?" Yoda echoed, confusion coloring his tone. 

“Obi Wan Kenobi." Luke amended, yearning for the presence of his first mentor. "The master that I told you. I—I heard from him sometimes, but I only  _ really  _ saw him—last night.” he added, then, "'Soka said she, uh, saw him too—once in a while."

Ahsoka's name slipped out of his lips almost naturally, an attribution that he'd grown accustomed to. Yoda, however, looked stunned at the mention of Ahsoka’s name. “Know of Padawan Tano, do you?” He said, and his face grew somber. For a brief moment, Luke wondered if it was because he  _ knew  _ her personally, had  _ missed  _ her dearly. 

"Yeah," Luke said, squirming under the gaze of the old man. "So was it him?" 

The twinkle of mischief and amusement returned to Yoda's face, as he softly hummed, "Was it? Was it not?" In a tone that made it seemed like he was riddling him.

Luke sighed. He had a feeling that he would never get a straight answer out of this little man. He lowered himself to the ground, looking at the crashed X-Wing, and loudly exhaled.

"I just—" he said, eyes seeing but not really looking at anywhere. "Kind of miss him." He said, "didn't really know him that much when he was alive, but he died trying to save me and my friends and he—" he dipped his chin to his arms, folded atop his legs. "He was kind, and patient. And he helped me, even beyond death." He took a deep breath, "he believed in me first. Before everyone else. It was because of him that I—" he shook his head, chuckling hollowly. "That I want to be a Jedi." He looked to Yoda, then, gazing at him, truly. "That I came  _ here  _ just so I can become one."

He sacrificed a  _ lot  _ to come here; the rebellion, his friends, his  _ sister— _

"A journey, you have been through." Said Yoda, sagely. Luke looked up at him, surprised at the resigned wisdom he displayed. Yoda simply smiled at him. “and much to learn, you have,” he continued. “But none of that tonight. Come." He chided Luke, his hand beckoning him to come closer. "Proper rest, you need.” He then turned, his little feet surprisingly quick Luke was scrambling to follow him. 

Behind him, Artoo trilled his unhappiness—something about the mud messing up with his wheels, so Luke turned, “You stay here then, guard the ship and the stuff.” He said, rubbing his dome head. “Okay?” 

Artoo beeped his affirmation rather dejectedly, turning back to where the freighter was. Luke waved to the last bits of  _ [Fare well, Luke,]  _ in binary speak before hastily following Yoda with large strides. 

The trip was silent—mostly because Yoda was walking quickly in front of him and Luke was far too busy trying to keep up, trying not to lose him. By the time they reached his small, humble hut, Luke was heaving, and the sky was now pitch dark, as opposed to the growing twilight he started with. 

“Come now, come in.” Said Yoda, opening his small door. Luke had to crouch down so he could fit, but it was—well, worth it. Unlike the cold, damp weather outside, the hut was warm, with just enough fire to maintain humidity without it being suffocating. Luke hadn’t even realized how cold he was until he plopped himself into the warm pile of blankets near the fireplace. The warmth was inviting, lulling him to close his eyes and just…  _ rest.  _

"A sacred teaching, a Jedi is." He heard Yoda say, as the old man moved around the household. "Be prepared, you must. Can you? Or can you not?" 

Luke yawned, snuggling as he pulled the blankets.  _ Force, it was so warm…  _ "I can try." He mumbled, his eyes growing heavy. 

Yoda shook his head. "Do or do not. There is no try." The old man said. "Be strong, you must. What your father could not carry, you will wield."

Luke's droopy eyes snapped open, and he straightened himself, peering at Yoda. "What do you mean?" He asked, almost accusingly. 

But the Master had raised his hand, as if shushing him. "Sleep, now, young Skywalker. Tomorrow; train, we will." 

Then he waddled out, staff on his hand, doing Force knew what.

Luke watched as his frail frame disappeared from the door. He sighed—feeling the emptiness in his head for the first time in a while. Leia had long stopped contacting him, perhaps devastated that he kept on refusing to answer.

_ (“I want to be a Jedi because—” He said, once, when the base was deathly quiet and the only people awake were the two of them, laying on top of an icy savannah, gazing at the night sky. “Because I want to help.” _

_ He wanted to carry the Legacy of his father—their father. The soldier. The savior. The Hero With No Fear. He wanted to help her, with this war, with this endless, boundless war. He wanted to take some of the ghosts out of her eyes.  _

_ She smiled at him, soft and somber and determined.  _

_ “I know,” She said, and she hugged him tighter; a head full shorter than him but it somehow felt like he was the one being comforted, reassured, protected. “You will. I believe in you.”)  _

Sighing, Luke tossed and turned; too prideful to contact her back, but also discontent at her lack of presence.

He just— _ really  _ missed Leia. 

* * *

She just— _ really  _ missed Luke.

And Winter.

Leia sighed, long had given up on trying to contact her brother. She was too tired to try again—too afraid that he wouldn't answer again, that she would scream for his name only for the void to swallow her voice. Winter, meanwhile, had probably been asleep, and Leia would loathe to bother her sister.

She placed her datapad beside her, looking at the space before her with something akin to longing. Reports from Riekaan just came in; there were only about 50 survivors gathering at the rendezvous from the ambush at Hoth. Some of the evacuating ships were captured, and some had been in contact but reported some obstacles that prevented them to arrive, but most were MIA. 

Leia took a deep breath. 

Fifty. Out of so many fleets— _ fifty.  _

There was no one here; Han had long been asleep, as was Chewie. SH-4 had been turned off; its battery span was always a little on the shorter end. She was the only one awake in the ship; alone.

She placed her head in her hands, and stared at the narrow darkness of the floor beneath her body. Leia didn't blink for several seconds, letting the air burn her eyes a little as the datapad beside her still displayed the numbers of survivors.

Fifty.

Only fifty. 

Leia wanted to scream. 

_ In, out. In, out. In, out.  _

What came out of her instead was a strangled whimper, stilted and repressed and  _ raw,  _ only a portion of her ever-expanding, over-consuming grief. Leia took a deep breath, trying to— _ let it all out? Swallow all in?— _ and failing, dramatically, on both; ending up on this torturous suspension between the two. 

She could feel her fingers trembling, her heart hammering, her head pounding. The number  _ fifty  _ echoed in her head, over and over and over again, combined with the ever-growing number of casualties reported back to her. Her datapad hadn’t stopped buzzing, and she took a peek, seeing that someone was comming her. 

Biggs. Luke's boyfriend.

She considered swiping the call off, but—it wouldn't be fair to Biggs. He would be just as anxious as she was, wondering where Luke went, why he didn't go to the rendezvous. Besides, he was a pilot first, her subordinate first, and this could be a professional call, informing her of something she might need. Knowing Biggs, it would probably be both. 

Taking a deep breath, she took it in.

The pilot was immediately on view, standing before her in hologram miniature.  _ "General."  _ He greeted. 

"Hello, Darklighter." said Leia, not unkindly. "How are the people? Are they alright? Are any of them injured?" She asked, immediately. 

_ "It's… tough, General."  _ Biggs explained, frustration evident in his tone.  _ "Many of the member's children here are traumatized—we still haven't located some of their parents, yet. And one Evac ship is bombed badly, causing the majority of its passengers to have some serious injury."  _ He ran a hand through his hair,  _ "in total, we have about 9 people mortally injured, 6 needing intensive care, and about 11 lightly wounded. we're thinning on medical supplies, mostly." _

Leia swallowed the dread that kept resurfacing. "Make a contact with this med center. Polis Massa." She said, trying to force herself to  _ focus; think of a solution—do not succumb to the grief.  _ "Tell them you're a delegate from Alderaan, seeking refuge. I will send the details on where to go and what to do." 

_ "Understood, General."  _ Said Biggs, saluting her. He then paused, squirming on his chance, as if trying to get words out but was too conflicted to do so.  _ "I was also wondering if you have also heard from—from Lu—Skywalker."  _ She could see him, fiddling with his fingers like he was nervous. _ "Commander Antilles had tried to contact him but—to no avail." _

Biggs spoke almost with the same misery Leia had felt, and Leia gulped down her miserable apologies for not doing better to keep an eye on her brother, for wanting to find commonalities with those who missed for Luke dearly. Instead she chose to be the General—she owed it to him, to all the people who looked up to her. 

"He's gonna be okay, Biggs." She spoke with a gentler tone this time, trying her best to believe her own words so her delivery would be more believable for him. "He's resilient and he's strong. He's gonna be  _ okay." _

_ Force, please let him be okay.  _

Biggs' face was still wary, but it relaxed, slightly, under Leia's reassurance.  _ "Okay, General." _ He said, his eyes filled with palpable relief.  _ "Thank you."  _

"You're welcome," Leia nodded, offering him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "May the Force be with you."

_ "As with you." _

He cut the comms, and Leia was once again alone, no longer needing to keep up the strong facade. Biggs' words was spinning in her head over and over, taunting her— _ haunting  _ her.

_ 9 people mortally injured, 6 needing intensive care, 11 lightly wounded. _

_ Medical supplies thinning. _

_ Fifty.  _

She picked up her pad, reading names and profiles popping up, every once in a while, naming her the men and women lost in this fight. 

Dak Ralter—cause of death; his ship had been sacrificed in an attempt to fight against the AT-AT. 

_ He had two sons, if Leia had not been mistaken; so young and small, perhaps wondering where their father was. _

Zev Senesca—cause of death; several fatal shots by a K2 unit.

_ She had a sister, and they were close, attached to the hip, oftentimes found goofing around at the base. _

Derek Klivian—cause of death; suicide bombing, trying to cut the leg of the humongous bots.

_ He would share his famous cooking to anyone who was starving, his bantha stew a legend in the base. _

Leia listed the names of the fallen, in her head, one by one; trying to picture their faces, their smiles, their voices. She muttered their names, hearing the echoes of how they sound like.  _ That was the only thing left of them,  _ Leia thought, bitterly;  _ their names. Nothing more.  _

Her voice got caught up in her throat. She was a  _ General;  _ people trusted her, and she had  _ failed.  _ Just like she failed the people of Alderaan when she was their Princess. Failure, she tasted, was bitter and burning; like a fire burning up her insides, trying to engulf her entirely with grief mixed with shame mixed with  _ anger.  _

_ When will you get better, Leia? Why are you always failing?  _

She wondered why she still resisted the flames—why hadn’t se succumbed to the burning, sometimes. Wondered why she still climbed and fought and struggled to  _ live,  _ sometimes. 

_ To patch up the wounds of her failures. To fix the things she had failed to prevent. _

Leia took a deep breath, shuddering, feeling tears brimming at her lids but not quite falling. She imagined that she looked like the beginning of a mess, now; nose red, cheeks flushing, eyes well on their way to be swollen. She shouldn’t cry. She really  _ shouldn’t— _ so she swallowed down the bile, the tears, the  _ grief,  _ shoving them deep in her heart. 

(The very second she chose to cry, it would be over for her. It would never  _ stop.)  _

She watched her hands, feeling power, raw and brimming, thrumming at her fingertips. The Force, Luke had explained before. She had it the way he had it; strong and tempting—an inviting call to wield, to bend, to  _ explore.  _ But it wasn’t calming, the way Luke had described his; instead, hers were  _ loud,  _ and distracting, and above all a  _ pull,  _ trying to get her in like it was some luring predator and she was their latest prey. 

It reminded her of that raw power, the one that Vader had used to tear down her mind, the one he had used to choke her. To feel the same crackle of power; the copy of what had tortured her, ruined her,  _ destroyed  _ her and countless others, under her skin was— _ sickening.  _

_ (She wanted to slice the layers out of her body and yank that power right out of it. Maybe then she could find some peace, some clarity—) _

Exhaling, Leia looked at the vast hyperspace. She wished Luke and Winter was here. She wished she could—

_ What? Cry at them? Make them feel just as bad as you did? Take away their hopes, dreams, the sliver of faith they had left? _

Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip. She couldn’t—she’d broken down on them,  _ once,  _ when Alderaan was  _ annihilated;  _ and look how they had  _ shattered  _ with her, trembling with grief and fear because if she wasn’t  _ strong  _ then what foundations would they stand on? 

Winter and Luke were her whole life; the personal fuel for her to keep going, keep fighting; so they could finally be themselves without being shackled by the war that haunted all of them since birth. She was their cornerstone—their reassurance. 

_ And yet there you were, screaming at the top of your lungs at him when he wanted to leave your fight to figure himself out. _

_ You claim to fight for their freedom but you're angry at them when they chose it over your fight.  _

Her breath hitched in her throat when she remembered what happened yesterday. The way she cussed Han, the way she insulted Luke; her anger and fear were so strong, so all-consuming that she couldn't even control it, sometimes. 

_ (She could still see the crestfallen look on Luke's face when she flat out denied his request to leave. Could see the frown in Han's face when she pressured him to stay. _

_ Everybody eventually  _ leave,  _ she knew this. She just—she wasn't ready if it was  _ them;  _ her brother and her Noble Smuggler, abandoning her like everyone else in her life had done before.) _

Leia catalogued her thoughts, desperately trying to gain some semblance of control over her emotions.  _ Picture the beach,  _ she reminded herself,  _ feel the moving sand beneath your feet. The breeze swirling around you. Absorb the heat of the sun above you. Hear the quiet, the silence. The solace it could offer. _

**_Leia?_ **

Leia froze. Tensed. The soft beach wind  _ stopped  _ caressing her skin, and the sun suddenly felt a little colder, a little  _ harsher.  _

Before her, The Man stood, at the teetering edge between land and ocean, with his feet dipped in water. His face was clearer this time, perhaps for the first time since she had seen him; chiseled jaw and a scar across his face. His eyes were blue with just a simmer of golden flames, somehow dancing in his gaze. 

He looked at her with all the worry and— _ affection?— _ he could muster, and he walked closer,  _ closer  _ to her, his tall frame shadowed the sun from her tiny form.

She recognized him; had  _ always  _ sensed familiarity in him, whenever he appeared. She had her guesses, about The Man, had asked Luke subtly, before, if she had seen  _ him;  _ he had said no. 

The Man opened his lips again, but when he spoke his voice sounded—almost otherworldly; like it came from the skies, not from his mouth.

**_Leia,_ ** he said her name in that odd accent—the same way Luke had first said her name. His relief bled through her surroundings, like he could finally breathe again when he saw her. She was almost lulled to the sense of security coming from his relief when the anger returned, burning her chest with the fire dancing in his eyes.  **_You denied me._ **

He was probably referring to  _ before,  _ just when she and Han reached the hyperspace after narrowly escaping the imps. He had reached for her, then, and in her adrenaline-infused nerves, Leia had immediately pushed him away, casting him out of her mind. Apparently he was persistent enough to reach for her so soon after the outward rejection. 

Not that she had ever  _ not  _ rejected him. 

_ (She tried not to think how his constant sudden appearance in her head eerily reminded her of Vader, forcibly tearing her mind while she screamed for mercy.) _

Gulping, Leia wanted nothing more than to slam her protections—shun him out, the way she had always done. Her fear creeped through her veins, tangling their grip to her limbs like vice. All she wanted to do was to  _ run _ . 

But she held her ground, tilted her chin up, put out a brave face, because there was something here, something bigger than her crippling fear. So she shielded her innermost thoughts, her most private self, in case something, _anything_ would happen, and faced him. "How did you know that there was gonna be an attack to the base?" She said, voice only slightly wavering. 

The Man stopped, his next step hesitant. She had never acknowledged him, before. Never spoke to him, before.  **_That matter does not concern you._ ** He said, finally, his wariness palpable despite his best effort to conceal it.

Leia shook her head. "That does, actually." She said, lifting one finger. "Because first. It means that you, an unknown individual whom I have  _ never _ even met in person, knows inaccessible information of the Empire," she said, lifting another finger. "Second. It means that you  _ know  _ the location of my base, which had been  _ heavily guarded, _ when you're an outsider with no real affiliation to  _ anybody."  _ She planted her feet firm to the ground, glaring at him challengingly. 

**_I have my own ways._ ** Said the man, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Your ways, unchecked, can endanger the base, the rebellion." She paused, before adding,  _ "me." _

She could see the tension in his posture returning, his anxiety heightening.  _ Good;  _ she needed him to feel threatened—if he could come here waltzing in with no announcement nor consent from her, then she could manipulate his concerns for her as she pleased. 

**_You will not be endangered!_ ** He roared, his anger flaring up. Leia could  _ feel  _ more than see the golden flames dancing within him, reflected in his eyes. Anger was always a constance with him; something that bled through his presence even when he was trying to contain it.  **_I will see to it. As long as I live, you will be safe._ **

"But you're  _ not  _ alive!" Leia yelled back, her emotions rising through her as well. "Heck, I don't even know the fuck who you are! Or even  _ what  _ you are!"

She was heaving, her aching heart slowly simmering by the increasing anger, pressuring around her. 

The man looked at her, stunned. Like he didn't expect her outburst, her spark of emotions.  **_I am—_ ** he hesitated, his sentence hanging mid-air. He didn't finish his answer.

Leia exhaled, exasperated. "Of course you won't say anything. Why am I surprised." She said, scoffing, as she looked away to the ocean. "It's all guessing games with you; who you are, when will you next come,  _ why  _ are you here." She ran a finger through her hair, feeling the frustration simmering inside her. "You're hanging in my fucking head, rents free, and you still have the guts to not tell me anything." She laughed, her nerves infused with exasperation. 

The Man looked at her, intently. They were close to each other, and she could see his face, even. Yet it felt like she had to scream, every time, just to get her words through him. 

But Leia was too tired to scream. She didn't even know where she got the strength to  _ stand.  _

**_Knowing all that won't protect you._ ** Said The Man, suddenly, and Leia glanced at him, warily,  _ wearily.  _ **_I want to protect you._ **

The way he spoke… Leia felt like there were some things he left unsaid. He looked at her like she was a ghost, sometimes, after all. "I want to ask,  _ from what, _ but I have a hunch that you won't give me any answer." She said, dryly. 

The Man only looked away pressing his lips, thin, like Luke when he was so upset.

_ Luke.  _ He looked so much like  _ Luke.  _

"What do you want?" She asked, looking at him with something akin to a plea. "You keep coming to my head, looking at me like  _ that. _ so what do you  _ want?" _

**_I want you to—_ ** he paused,  **_be safe._ ** He had the gold on his eyes almost immediately put out—only leaving a speck at the outer corners of his blue. He looked at her with the most tender gaze, she felt like it was such an odd juxtaposition of the anger swirling around him.  **_And you can only be safe if you follow me._ **

_ Follow me,  _ he always said, when there was nothing to alert, nothing run from. Like it was an order, not an offer.  _ Follow me,  _ he always said, with his somewhat threatening tone, like she could suffer consequences if she didn't.

But this time he said it differently. It was almost like he was—begging; pleading. The echo around her was raw and pained, and Leia could feel his anger chipping away, replaced by edging desperation. 

"Where?"

**_To a path of safety; freedom; power._ **

The first two—she was tempted. But the last one…

She remembered the fear she had when the shuura fruit had been flying at her direction, gently, without her even summoning it. She knew the whispers of fear against Luke—sunshiny, kind Luke—for the force he wielded. She had seen men crumpled down into lifeless bodies, their souls snapped into halves with Vader's  _ power _ .

"I don't want power." She said, quietly. "I just want  _ peace."  _

**_But you've already have it,_ ** he sounded baffled at her outward denial.  **_With power, you can bend everything, everyone under your will_ ** _. _

"And what would it cost them?" She challenged him. "When they are forced to abide to my will, what will they have to sacrifice?" She shook her head, indignantly, thinking about the number  _ fifty,  _ over and over again. "Their freedom? Their safety? Are their lives the currency to pay for this path you're trying to show me?"

The Man opened his lips, then closed it again, then opened it again, but no words came out of his mouth. In that moment, she knew that she was  _ right. _

Leia felt her body growing devastatingly  _ weary.  _ She waved a hand at him, turning her body away already. She was growing tired of the harsh waves, of this cloudy beach. "If you don't have anything more to say, then—"

**_Power is your legacy._ ** He said—now sounding more angry than before, like her denial, her criticism had personally  _ hurt  _ him.  **_To deny it would be to deny your birthright._ **

Leia tensed. Her entire body freezing."I don't know what you're talking about." She could feel the wind, stronger now, and the waves, crashing harder, louder around her. "My birthright was taken from me the second my planet is destroyed—the second my parents are murdered." She looked at him, tone clipped and precariously balanced. 

**_Those people are not your parents._ ** He said, gritting through his teeth, and Leia swore the wind could almost sweep her away with the brute strength of it all. 

"They  _ are _ ," Leia stubbornly rebutted, mindful of the ever increasing wind, pushing her, pulling her, attacking her from every direction. "In every way that matters, they're my mama and  _ papa."  _

And then—the waves  _ soared,  _ crashed like a tsunami, and Leia almost yelped at the threat of almost being taken by the water. Beneath her, the ground shook. The Man was looking at her with something akin to  _ fury,  _ and while previously Leia had been annoyed, at best wary, towards him, now she was downright afraid. "What are you  _ doing?!" _ She yelled, wanting to run, to  _ hide,  _ because she was starting to grow  _ afraid. _ "Stop it! You're  _ scaring me!" _

_ For this was her mind, how could he took control over like that, twisted her mind like that? _

_ (Flashbacks of Vader, tearing her walls apart as she begged him to "stop, please, stop it—") _

She could feel him seizing up, like her words had struck him. The power beneath her was chanting, calling her to use it, and she couldn't help it; she tried to push him away.

He fell—got pushed several meters away despite her not even  _ touching  _ him, and the storm disappeared. But Leia was still heaving, still shivering, still  _ afraid. _

He scrambled to sit, looking as stunned as she felt. His surprise soon contorted to guilt, and he immediately was back on his feet, a raw, pained, regretful energy swirling around him.  **_I didn't mean to—_ **

"Leave." She said, through her gritting teeth, trembling with anger and— _ fear? _ She already summoned her walls, trying to put a barrier between herself and this Man. "Get out of my fucking head." 

**_Leia, I'm—_ **

"I said get  _ out!"  _

He was gone, but so was the beach, and so was the faux peace. Instead she was back at the Falcon, breathing heavily, alone, once more. 

Around her, the steel floor  _ cracked.  _

_"No,"_ she said, her voice trembling as her fingers hovered the damage. "No, no, no, no, no, no, _no…"_

Han asked her before, what was she afraid of. Leia had her answer at the tip of her tongue, but she was too fearful to say it out loud.

For how could she ever admit to  _ anyone  _ that she was so afraid of  _ herself?  _

She closed her eyes, burying her face to her hand, and  _ sobbed _ .

“Princess Leia?”

She whipped her head up, still snotty and teary and in no way presentable, to see the protocol Droid peering over her. “Threepio.” she breathed, trying to gain some semblance of control over herself. “Hey.”

While his face could not change, Threepio sounded worried when he asked. “I heard voices, echoing down the Pantry." He looked down to the floor, and yelped an "oh, My!" As he saw the broken lines of the steel tile. "What happened here, Your Highness?" 

Leia opened her mouth, but no words came but a strangled sound, and she immediately closed it before it could return to a full-blown sob. 

Threepio, though, was practically her nanny since childhood, and the goldenrod had an inclination of being able to read her. When he asked again, his voice was gentler, this time. "Is there something wrong? Would you like my assistance?” 

Leia gulped, half-mortified that she was caught mid-breakdown. She wanted to spill it to him, the feelings, the doubts, the  _ fears,  _ but— _ no.  _ She couldn't burden him with her problems. Couldn't burden anyone with her problems. That would be unfair to any of them, even if it was just a Protocol Droid. 

“No, Threepio. It’s okay.” she said, trying to faux a stable voice. “Things just… get loud, sometimes.”

If the Droid could narrow his eyes, he probably had already, as he asked, “But it’s completely quiet out here, Your Highness.”

Gulping, Leia offered him a fragile smile. “I know, Threepio." She spoke, her voice heavy and  _ sad. _

“I know.” 


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka's contemplation about the past was interrupted with an earth-shattering news, whereas back at the Imperial City, her former Master's subordinate made several wild guesses that might not be too wild, after all. Meanwhile, who knew that a broken hyperdrive would buy our favorite pilot an accidental moment with the princess he was insisting to not have a crush on?

Han and Chewie was on the heights of playing dejarik when Leia's voice pierced his concentration, asking him, "Why _haven't_ we arrived yet?" 

Startled, Han stopped his piece a little too soon to the wrong plot, and Chewie cheered. _"I won!"_ He said, cackling as he moved his piece, taking Han's Queen with it. 

"Great, now I have a new debt to—" Han stopped, rather abruptly, upon fully looking at her. She had just showered, and she was wearing a clean white tracksuit. Her face was bare—Han could see the little freckles on the skin—and she had her hair braided nicely into twin loops at the lower sides of her head.

Leia looked like she didn't put in extra effort than any other day, and she looked even more distressed than usual, but somehow in that moment Han was so convinced that she had never been more beautiful.

"...Chewie," he finally finished his sentence lamely, still half-dazed, entrapped with her presence. 

Leia raised her eyebrows, looking at Han defiantly. “That sounds like a _you_ problem.” She said, walking into the room and stuffing herself next to Chewie. “So why _haven’t_ we arrived yet?” She repeated her question to him. 

It took Han more than a couple of embarrassing seconds to un-mush his brain and actually caught up with her question. “Uh, because we _haven’t?”_ He tried to sound sassy, saving face. 

Judging from Leia’s unimpressed expression, it didn’t work. 

“Look,” Han tried again, clearing his throat. “We jumped hyperspaces _a lot_ during the raid _._ Probably much more than most of the other evac ships because they were tailing us the most.” He turned to Chewie. “For Force’s sake, we ended up somewhere near _Dantooine,_ like—it’s bound to be a long trip back to the rendezvous.”

“Not _this_ long.” Insisted Leia, creasing her forehead. “Didn’t you and Luke get to the Death Star from Tatooine in, _what?_ A day and a half?” She frowned. “This is roughly the same distance as that, and we’ve been floating in the hyperspace for _three days.”_

Han paused, letting Leia’s words dawning on him. He did _not_ realize that. Years of spending most of his time in space, he’d grown accustomed to long flights and staying afloat. He didn’t really care for time when he was up here—not that there was any natural indication of its progression when they were roaming around in the galaxy, after all. 

But now that he thought about it… it _had_ been that long. 

“My ship is _fine.”_ He said, being preemptively defensive—but even his voice was slightly wavering, doubt creeping up on him. “Right, Chewie?” 

Chewie merely tilted his head, raising a hand, giving him a look that said something akin to, _You’re on your own on this one, Pal._

Han tried again. “At least when I last checked on it, it was _fine.”_

“Hm,” Said Leia, leaning onto the dejarik table and—well, now they were so close, _too close_ , Han was definitely _not_ prepared for them to be _that_ close—smirked at him challengingly. “And when was the last time you checked on this—” She waved a hand at her surroundings. “So-called-baby of yours?” 

Han opened his mouth, preparing to fire back and answer, then paused. The last time had been—

“...Maybe we should check it again.” Han conceded. He gestured at Chewie to stand up. “You should check the panels. I’ll see what’s going on downstairs.” 

Leia stood up as well. “I’m coming with you.” She said, nudging her chin to Han’s direction. She looked determined, but—was that a _blush?_ Spreading light pink on both her cheeks? 

Was she blushing at the prospect of being together with him? 

Something inside Han’s chest bubbled—almost tasted like _giddiness_ if he didn’t know any better. “What, Princess,” He said, teasing, trying to suppress the genuinely wide grin he himself was having at the thought of hanging out with only her, “wanna catch me alone on an intimate moment?” 

Catching Leia sputtering was very, _very_ rare—being a Princess, then a Senator, then a General often required skills in wordsmith—and so Han was more than glad that he somehow had that power over her; to cause her to blubber, even if only slightly. “You—what—of course not! I’m just making sure that you’re doing your job correctly!” She said, and the pink deepened to scarlett.

Oh. _Oh,_ Han was enjoying this too much, now. “Mhm. Doing _what job,_ exactly?” He said, slyly. “Something you’d personally assign for _you_ , maybe—” 

Leia snorted, “Get your mind out from the gutter, Han, of course I’m talking about fixing this goddamn ship—” 

“Mhm. And what do you know about machineries, Your Worship?” He said; his smile was uncontainable now. 

Leia huffed, crossing her hands over her chest, and gave him a dirty stare. “Plenty, actually.” She rebutted, wittily. “Or are you forgetting that I'm the sister of the most excitable pilot in the _galaxy?”_

Han pressed his lips, holding back a smile. _“Really,_ now?” He dragged, his tone light. “Or is this all just a ploy to get the both of us _alone together…”_

Narrowing her eyes so deep it made a rather sharp angle, Leia opened her mouth and was left speechless for several seconds, before going, “Not everything has to be about _you,_ you _horny,_ insufferable Nerfherder!” 

Before Han could reply or say anything, she had stormed out of the pantry, leaving Han gaping. Beside him, he could see from his peripheral how Chewie was rubbing his forehead, like he was personally exhausted over something. 

“Who is she calling a _Nerfherder?”_

 _“Ah, shit.”_ Chewie mumbled beside him, barely audible Han almost didn’t catch him. Chewie straightened himself, then, shoving Han by the shoulder rather lightly. _“You. Follow the Princess.”_ He said, with a tone so patronizing Han wasn’t sure if he should debate him on it. 

Still, he wasn’t Han Solo if he didn’t _try._ “Why _me?”_ He protested, looking at Chewie indignantly. 

The Wookie merely sighed, and shook his head. _“One day,”_ he said, shaking Han slightly, _“we are going to teach you how to control that slobbery mouth of yours, but for now let’s not agitate the princess even more, okay?”_ His tone softened then, _“She’s stressed out enough.”_

Hearing that from Chewie felt like a light sucker-punch. The _last_ thing he wanted was to add the burden of Leia’s thoughts. “I didn’t—” He protested, weakly, now looking away, averting his gaze to instead look at the doorway where Leia had stormed away to. “I didn’t mean to.” 

_“I know, buddy.”_ Chewie patted his shoulder. _“That’s why you’re gonna apologize to her.”_ He said, softly. 

“...Fine.” Han grumbled, trying to sound begrudging even though now he was antsy at catching her up. “I’ll catch her up.” 

_“Good.”_ Said Chewie, sagely. Han walked out, already reaching to the exit when Chewie called him out again. _“Oh, and Han?”_

“Yeah?”

He turned to see Chewie glancing, almost slyly, as he said, _“Women like it better if you’re just_ really _honest with how you feel about him.”_ His grin was wide and almost comical, like he was expecting something _funny._

Feeling his cheeks warming, Han tried to come up with a witty reply. “I— _what—_ I’m not feeling _anything_ about her!” 

Chewie snorted, shrugging slightly. _“Sure, buddy. Keep telling yourself that.”_ He said, waving a hand. _“Now shoo. Scram.”_

Han wanted to say some more to defend himself, salvage some of his dignity to Chewie, but the Wookie had all but shoved him out of the door, before walking away himself, no doubt going to the cockpit to check on the panels. 

Sighing, Han ran a hand to his hair. He looked around, wondering where the princess might be in this rather confined ship, before his mind supplied him with an idea. 

He walked down to near the machine rooms, but instead of taking the left he turned right, to the room he first showed Luke after the disastrous but successful infiltration at the Death Star three years ago. True to his predictions, Leia was _there._

Han didn’t know if she’d noticed, but he kept in mind of how often she hid herself into this forgotten crevice, whenever she was upset. 

“Hey.” He said, startling her slightly she leaped a bit from where she was sitting. 

The Princess turned at him, her eyes wary and rather distrustful as she asked, “what do you want?” she said, snidely. “Make innuendos again?” She snorted, “Does anything _always_ have to be an innuendo with you?” 

She looked like she was genuinely pissed, and that feeling of being sucker-punched returned. Han rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of how to approach this. “I, uh,” he said, lamely. “I’m—sorry.” 

Leia’s scrunched up face relaxed for a second, turning stunned—before returning back to the distrustful glare. “What?” 

Han sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I was being kind of an asshole,” he said, “Teasing you like that wasn’t— _good.”_ He winced, not really looking at her. 

He could feel Leia’s stare glued to his figure as he averted his gaze from her. “...Chewie sent you here, didn’t he?” She said and there was a slight good-natured lightness in her voice now, as opposed to the complete bitterness she first greeted him with. 

Han would take that slight lightness any day. “He has his Wookie Ways.” He said, shrugging as he felt his cheeks warming once more. 

Leia chuckled, such a small sound Han almost didn’t catch it, but it was _there_ and suddenly the dread in his chest was tilted, slightly; lighter, somehow. “More like Wookie Wisdom.” She said, before sighing. “Sorry I came in yelling, too.” She added, looking up at him with those baby browns, causing something in his heart to flutter. “I just… really want to get back.” She turned to the vast darkness before them, with lights flashing before their eyes, making streaks. “They _need_ me to get back.” 

_The rebellion. The people._

_Her people,_ she always said. At first, Han used to think that it was some sort of entitled claim, but now, knowing her better—it sounded more like a responsibility; a burden to defend, to protect, to _please._

"I know." He said softly, approaching her closer with his hands in his pockets. "We will, soon." He smiled at her, and she looked up and smiled at him; a mix of weariness and gratitude on her eyes. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, for a while, just kind of… lost into each other's eyes, until Han snapped out first; realizing his awfully long gaze to her and coughing awkwardly. "Come on." He said, awkwardly beckoning her. " _We_ should check the machines." 

The inclusion had been intentional, and it seemed like it didn't escape Leia, as she stood up slowly and followed him to the machine room.

It was _hot_ , and sort of _suffocating,_ and Han kind of didn't get his past self fifteen minutes ago when he suggested that they could do anything here but to check on the engines and immediately _leave._ "Keep the door open." He grunted, as he ducked into the tangled pipes and wires. "If we don't get any air in here we'll probably get toasted in two minutes."

Leia said some sort of agreement, but then Han was too busy studying the engines, trying to figure out what had been slowing them down. "Seems to be all fine to me." He said, after a while of inspecting. 

"Have you checked the Hyperdrive?" Leia asked, her voice slightly muffled by all the smokes and heat of the room. 

Wait. That was actually a smart idea. "It's attached at the panel near the door." He said, lifting himself up. Leia, being closer to the exit, beat him to it, though; examining the wiring.

"So?" Han came from behind her, peering over her diminutive figure. The wiring seemed to be fine, if not a little ancient, but the Falcon had always been a little ancient, after all.

"Do you never change the wires?" Leia inched her fingers closer to some of the frayed cables. There were little sparks there, and something in Han's gut dropped. "It smells almost like burning—"

"Your Worship, I don't think you should—"

The sparks flew, causing a rather surprising explosion that Leia yelped as Han instinctively pulled her to his embrace, away from the small, unwanted fireworks. 

They stood still posed like that for several long seconds— _he could feel Leia, her warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and onto his skin, her breath puffy to his chest, and his own heart, beating as loud as it could get—_ before Leia mumbled, rather tersely, "we should get a fire extinguisher."

"Extinguisher. Right." Han released her immediately and bolted across the room, grabbing the device and blasted it straight to the source of the sparks before it could start anywhere else. He was kind of glad the room was hot so he could attribute his flush to the heat. 

When they finished, the room was a little colder from all the spraying, but the hyperdrive was— "it's fried to crisp." 

Han winced, dread creeping up to his nerves. This could only mean one thing. "Princess," he said, grabbing one of the pipes. "hang on to a sturdy surface." 

"Huh?"

She latched her hand to the door handle just right when the ship shook violently, causing Han to almost slide and topple over, if not for— _her free hand grabbing him, pulling him close, then putting his larger hand over hers so they could hold onto the knob together, and he was touching her hand, oh Force—_

There was a cry, a beep, and an incredulous "oh My!" Heard from the distance, before a flurry of steps rushed to where they were. Han and Leia stared at their joined hands for a couple of seconds before they released each other like they were hot flames, putting a distance between themselves as they averted their gaze from one another—just as C-3PO, SH-4, and Chewie climbed down hastily.

"Master Han! Mistress Leia! Oh My!" 

_[Mistress Leia, are you injured?]_

_"What happened?"_ Chewie demanded, _"I left you two lovebirds for a second and suddenly we're out of hyperspace!"_

Han gaped at Chewie's use of word to refer to them, his brain sort of short-circuiting. Thankfully, Leia was faster to get over her bearings, because she cleared her throat rather stiffly. "The Hyperdrive is broken," she said, waving a hand at the panel. "It caught on fire earlier."

Chewie looked at them accusingly, like they were somehow responsible for this. _"What did you two do?"_

"Nothing!" Han and Leia said, simultaneously, before exchanging glances at each other in surprise. Well. So much for being convincing. "It's just—" Han tried very hard not to sputter. "Must be from the high-speed space jumps we did when we escaped."

"Oh Dear," fretted Threepio, "however will we get back? Without the Hyperdrive, we are hundreds of light-years away from our destination! We'll wither sooner than—"

Han's patience to the anthropomorphic Droid was starting to thin out. "Okay, now Goldenrod, take it easy." He said, raising both hands, "we can fix this, just—" he turned around, landing his eyes at Chewie. "Where exactly did we land?" 

_"Near Anoat system, I think."_ Grumbled Chewie, crossing his hands over his chest. _"Nobody goes here."_

"Oh, Dear!" Threepio wailed, "no one is going to save us, we are going to be stranded in an unknown system forever!"

Chewie and Han looked at Threepio dirtily, but Leia came forward, caressing the goldenrod gently. "Threepio, hey." She said, her tone soft and kind, "we're gonna be okay, alright?" 

Han himself was racking his brain out, trying to find a nearby pit-stop that would not take them eons to get by, so they could fix this blasted machine. _Anoat system; what's in the Anoat system—_ "...Bespin is around here somewhere, right?" He looked up at Chewie, raising one eyebrow.

 _"Somewhere around the northwest section, yeah."_ Chewie raised an eyebrow. _"Why would you—?"_ And then he paused, eyes widening. _"...oh."_

Grimace unfurling, Han nodded. "Yeah."

_"You sure?"_

"I mean," Han shrugged. "It's been a while. Can't be that bad—he must've missed me, right?" 

Leia looked up between the two men, narrowing her eyes. "Who are you two talking about?" She asked, suspiciously. 

Han shrugged. "An old friend who can probably help." He said, running a hand behind his neck, looking at her rather sheepishly.

_"Probably?"_

"Better than nothing, right?" Han rebutted her without missing a beat, already walking past the bots and Chewie as he climbed up. "Now come on, let's get back up. I need to make a call."

He sighed, smiling tightly to himself.

It's been a while—hopefully Lando hadn't changed commlinks. 

* * *

On more times than she was willing to admit, she didn’t know where Ahsoka Tano ended and Fulcrum started. 

As she took her turns in the watch—still bleary eyed and half-awake—Ahsoka contemplated; put her chin in-between the open palms of her hands, and _thought._ The gentle, quiet hums of the hyperspace helped her to think, after all. 

Behind her, she could hear Rex’s gentle snoring, and Winter’s mumbles in her sleep. They were en route to Polis Massa, as per Leia's instructions; hopefully the sentients there would allow them to reap as much medicine as they needed—but even then getting back to the rebel rendezvous would be a challenge, with all these Imperials patrolling like a vigilant hawk.

Scrunching her eyes, she forced herself not to delve into the possible obstacles. No use burdening oneself with _what-ifs_ that hadn't even happened yet.

Instead she chose to think about how she was Ahsoka to Rex, but Fulcrum to Winter. How she’d always had a double identity most of her life, on how often those two identities clashed and _crashed._

Fighting. Battling for dominance, for claimant of her thoughts, of _her._

_Is this what Skyguy was feeling? Is continuing to feel?_

On quiet moments like this, when Ahsoka was free and Fulcrum was dutiless, her mind would often drift into her former master. What was he doing, how was he faring—how the _heck_ could he breathe in that godawful suit of his. 

_(It was a medical necessity, Fulcrum once eavesdropped from an intel. She felt her heart twisted, snapped to halves, then—for what kind of wounds would confine her master, her father figure, to a goddamn cybernatic suit?)_

But beyond everything else, Ahsoka wondered if her master was still _in_ there; in the man who had commanded thousands of fleet to commit aggression, genocide, and other atrocities she couldn’t possibly say. Just like how she wondered about herself, she often asked where Anakin Skywalker had ended and Darth Vader had begun, or if there was ever Anakin Skywalker anymore, after— _that._

_(She could still remember her knees buckling, when her funeral had been broadcasted; it was an ethereal farewell, befitting for a beloved queen, but for a while, Ahsoka couldn't see anything beyond the blur of her own tears._

_Padme had been a close confidante, far closer than anyone else. Some quiet nights like these, Fulcrum could almost imagine her calling the senator "mom," from her memories.)_

Fulcrum sighed, looking at the floor beneath her. He used to say that he accepted her as his Padawan, because she reminded him a little bit of himself—back then, she thought of it as a compliment. Now, with all that had happened, she wasn’t so sure. 

But it seemed that a double identity, a double life, was an experience that she shared with her Master.

_Just another thing we have in common, eh, Snips?_

Sighing, Ahsoka closed her eyes. If she worked a little harder, dug a little deeper, she could almost conjure up an image of him, smiling, in her head. Times like these; after a raid, or an attack, it got harder to picture him—her smiling general kept slipping away from her, replaced by the masked horror show that plagued the universe with his ruthless power.

 _Power._

Obi-Wan never really did say what caused Skyguy to fall; what caused him to crave for so much _power_. It never occurred to Fulcrum to ask either, back then—for their focus were never to dwell about the past, but to protect the future.

 _(But on nights like these, Ahsoka wondered;_ **_why?_ **

_Why choose the Dark? Why be a sith?_

_Why kill Padme?_

_Why—)_

She stole a glance at Winter, who at that moment chose to snuggle closer to her plushie and mumbled her sister's name. "Leia," she muttered, frowning. Ahsoka's chest constricted, at that—for even in her sleep, Winter had _missed_ her sister.

Fulcrum, too, had missed her. Leia sounded fine, back when she commed them earlier to inform that the Falcon was having some technical issues and would probably have to make a pit-stop first. But—if there was anything Fulcrum had known about Leia, it was that she masked her emotions impeccably, worryingly _well_. She even had came up to her, one night not too soon after the Death Star's destruction, asking for help with her mental shields.

 _"So anyone won't see should they snoop around in my head."_ Leia had said darkly, like she had a personal experience. But then her tone was softer, gentler, when she added, _"so Luke doesn't have to see when he and I are talking."_

Ahsoka had long swore she would give up the Jedi teachings, the Jedi way, heck; even the _Force_ . It was—traumatizing, to put the least; being on the order, treated like _that_ . But she would make an exception for Luke—and Leia, should she ever change her mind; would teach them how to reach for the force in their most rudimentary, defensive form, if it meant it could strengthen them. Besides, teaching Luke had been— _fun_ . An experience in and of itself, causing her to smile in reminiscence every so often at the memory. It didn't feel burdening, or _wrong,_ if she used the Force with _him._

Idly, she wondered if that was how Skyguy had felt, when he was teaching her. 

_(Idly, she grew somber upon thinking, he should have been the ones to teach him themselves, not be the cause of him desperately learning for survival's sake.)_

She sighed; despite the ungodly hour, she punched the comms again, connecting to Luke's commlink. He wasn't going to the rendezvous, and Leia had said earlier that he refused her mental probes, so Ahsoka—well. She got worried.

The twins' fight on their last morning at the base was still fresh in her mind, Leia hurtling cruel words and Luke storming out. She hoped whatever the underlying issue was, they could patch it back up.

_(Seeing their father break his bonds with his brother had been painful enough.)_

Whatever planet he had landed on, she hoped it was daytime so he could finally answer and she could finally launch a tirade at him. 

Time passed and the beeps became more patronizing, and Fulcrum was about to give in and and hang the call when suddenly, she heard that hopeful _click._

_[Ahsoka?]_

"Artoo!" She yelped, giddily surprised before clamping her mouth with her palm when Rex narrowed his eyebrows and Winter made a disgruntled sound. "Where are you?" 

_[I am not sure.]_ Said Artoo, and Ahsoka could imagine the small bot whirring around, trying to confirm his whereabouts to no avail. Not for the first time—but still. Kind of hard for a Droid with the map of the entire galaxy to get _lost_ . _[This place does not show in my navigation system.]_

"Does it, now?" Replied Ahsoka, bemusedly. "How did you get here, then?" 

_[Luke led the navigation.]_ Chirped the bot, rather dejectedly. _[I am not of use here.]_

"Hey, you know that's not true, little bud." Said Fulcrum, gently. "he likes you, and he could really use a friend, especially in such an isolated planet." She narrowed her eyes, then, recalling on why she had called. "Speaking of, where is he?" 

If Droids could sigh, Artoo was probably doing it right now. _[I do not know.]_ He trilled, _[our plane had crashed, and our compartment is in disarray. Luke told me to stay and guard his possessions,]_ And then, after a while, he added, almost begrudgingly, _[and then he left with Master Yoda.]_

That got Ahsoka's sleepy eyes wide awake. "Master _Yoda?"_ She said incredulously, before screwing her mouth shut when she heard Rex blearily mumbled an _ssssh!_ in his sleep. "That's where you've been going? To find that tiny green wizard?" 

Artoo beeped, _[yes.]_ By the sound of it, he, too, didn't like this turn of events. _[He has grown senile. Earlier, he stole Luke's fuels.]_

Fulcrum sighed, pinching her forehead. "Probably as a test." She said, tiredly. "Who knows? Everything's always a test with him." She blew out a breath, exasperation coursing through her. "I should've guessed that's where he's going." She grumbled, "I swear to Force, he has his dad's impulse control."

She shouldn't have fed him infos about the old Master. Should have known that he'd take it as an encouragement. 

Artoo's beeps were incorrigible, so he was probably laughing in Droidway. _[He does inherit that code from him, yes.]_ He paused, _[but can you blame him?]_

Upon Artoo's words, Ahsoka's mind immediately trailed off to Luke, looking sad around the cantina as everyone else gathered with their families, telling stories of their past. Luke, not understanding Leia and Winter's giggles about an Alderaanian thing. Luke, looking subtly envious at Han when he boasted about a Corellian soap opera or alcohol, or Chewie when he told the bunch of his past ancestors back before his kind was shackled and enslaved.

Luke, she realized, had no real, tangible Legacy. All stories about his parents, the people of his past, had either been hidden or outwardly fabricated for his safety. He had no one left he could ask, nothing he could connect with—but the Force, but the tales about his Dad, the Amazing Jedi. 

Of course he wanted to seek more. Of course he wanted to reconnect with what he believed was the last scraps of his Legacy.

"I suppose I can't." Fulcrum sighed, smiling somberly. "I just… wished it wasn't coming from the damn Frog." 

So she called the Jedi Masters names. Sue her—they destroyed their lives. On the scale of how people generally acted out their vendetta against the Order, she was definitely on the tame side. 

"Could be worse, though." She lamented, after a comfortable silence. "Could be— _eugh,_ Windu." She made a face at the mention of the late Master. Dead or not, his uppity attitude during her trial had truly been the seal that strengthened her departure from the Order.

 _[Master Windu was unpleasant, yes.]_ Artoo agreed. 

Ahsoka chuckled, tapping her nails at the ship's dashboard absent-mindedly. "Promise me you'll watch out for him?" She asked, softly. 

_[I have not failed my oath since I have inserted it to my programming.]_ Replied Artoo, rather proudly. _[I do not plan to start now.]_

"Thanks, Buddy." Fulcrum's smile relaxed, now. "Also… tell him to let Leia in? It's been four days, and she's worried sick about him." She added, "and knowing the both of them, I'm pretty sure he's also worried for her." 

_[I will, when he comes back.]_ Said Artoo. _[Considering the thinning battery life with the comms, I am also fairly certain that soon, their form of communication will be to only way to reach out to all of you.]_

That… Didn't sound too good. "Are there no electricity there? Something to charge your tools with?" 

_[This planet is filled with swamps.]_ Artoo sounded miserable when he spoke. _[My wheels are squeaky, and I cannot even walk without being swallowed by the wet ground every standard minute!]_

Ahsoka chuckled sympathetically. "Oh, Buddy, you poor thing." She said, genuinely. "How about you turn everything off for a few hours—to reserve batteries and all."

 _[That is an excellent input, yes.]_ Chirped Artoo, sounding slightly happier. _[Thank you for calling, Ahsoka.]_

"You're welcome, Bud." Said Ahsoka, grinning even though Artoo couldn't see it. "You take care okay?" 

_[I will.]_ Artoo replied. _[Fare well.]_

"You too, buddy." And then the line went out. 

Fulcrum leaned to her chair, feeling that parts of the tightness in her chest had been lifted. _Luke was safe. Leia was safe._ She let her mind chant the reminder over and over again to soothe her nerves. The temperature in the cabin was slightly warmer now, that she had fully known how the twins were faring. 

_But isn't it ironic, how their greatest threat was the Empire, led to rampage their existence by their own father?_

Ahsoka always wondered what would her former Master do if he _knew;_ would he defect? Would he return? Or would he corrupt them, _worse;_ kill them, just like—

She gulped, her eyes welling up when her mind involuntarily conjured up the image of the late senator. _Padme would love them_ , she thought somberly. _She would have loved Leia's fierceness, Luke's determination. She would have loved them with all that her heart could muster._

_(He would have loved them, too.)_

Not for the first time since the war broke, Fulcrum wondered about the past; had she stayed, would it change anything, _anything_ at all? For the better, perhaps? She pressed her lips together, feeling guilt piling up in her gut. _No use lamenting in what-ifs,_ she often told herself—but sometimes she couldn't help it.

Her holopad beeped, then—and she thought that was perhaps another Rebel call incoming, perhaps informing her of the new developments in the rendezvous. She took it—

And found The Mandalorian's miniaturized figure standing on the screen.

Ahsoka straightened herself; this was—rare, to say the least. She _knew_ Mando—the world of spies and mercenaries often intersected. And they had accidentally worked together, once, perhaps a year ago; in Sullust, when she dragged his ass out for being way too involved in an Imperial-induced crossfire and he busted her out from a holding cell. They ended up escaping together with her ship before going onto their separate ways in Correllia, and maintained a mutual respect, but they didn't contact each other often, if not _ever._

For Mando to initiate contact… it was _odd._

 _"Fulcrum."_ He said, nodding. She nodded back, warily, acknowledging his presence. _"I know this is… unusual."_ He began, _"but there has been a… recent development that I think you would like to know."_

Raising her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. "What development?" She asked, for what exactly would prompt a bounty hunter to call her work comms? 

_"The Empire is searching for a rebel."_ Said Mando, _"Vader is leading the hunt himself. He's employing all the reputable ones—Fett included."_

"Fett?" Repeated Ahsoka, incredulously. Boba Fett was a mercenary with no moral compass, and had worked with people as much as he had killed them. He took the side with the most money, and it was often that he would execute the Emperor's men. For him to be employed… they must be _desperate._

Something knotted at the pit of her gut, as she asked, "Who's the guy they're searching for?" 

_"We don't have a name. We don't have anything, actually."_ He said, _"they only gave us a face, a cause, and a prize. I will send the details to you."_ He straightened his posture. 

Fulcrum nodded, warily. "Why are you telling me this?" She asked. One can never be too trustful, these days. Any lead could be a trap, any clues could be a threat. 

Mando shrugged. _"For Sullust."_ He said, almost nonchalantly. _"My kind repays for their life debts, Fulcrum."_

"...thank you, Mando." She said, quietly. The Mandalorian nodded. 

_"This is the way."_ He replied. _"Take care, Fulcrum."_

"You too." Said Ahsoka, but the hunter had disappeared, his holographic figure gone from her datapad. Ahsoka lifted the device, seeing that as promised, Mando had sent him the files. 

Fulcrum opened it, watched it load—and cursed.

_"Vos!"_

Before her, a familiar face—slightly blurry, but clear _enough_ to identify—had greeted her. The camera captured the blonde of his hair, the blue of his eyes, and even the slightly blurred lines on his forehead, creasing to what Ahsoka assumed as worry. 

_Red Five,_ said the information, _Wanted for destruction of Imperial Properties._

Luke.

They were looking for _Luke._

"Oh, _Kriff,_ Skyguy," said Ahsoka, dread climbing up to her throat as her eyes were glued to the projecting image. "What have you _done?"_

* * *

_"With all these humidity, when I get back I better get a raise."_

"You've only been there for two days, Klinton."

_"Yeah. And it's a really shitty two days, I'm telling you. Why can't they come from a nearer, more habitable place—something like—I don’t know, Kashyyyk, maybe?"_

“That’s a Wookie planet.” 

_“Well they have a wookie!”_

Piett rubbed his forehead, starting to feel the beginning of a headache. His former teammate had always been… colorful, in terms of how he expressed his feelings. He saw that even the world of secrecy and espionage hadn't changed that. 

Why did he have to contact this whiny man again? 

_Oh. Yes. Lord Vader’s orders._

"How is it there, now? Have you got any news of the boy or the pilot?" He asked, instead.

The holographic figure before him smirked. _“You know how it is, on planets like these.”_ He said, looking around. _“No one keeps a clean record in a place intended for crimes. And this place is, well.”_ He shrugged.

Piett understood, really. It took the Empire three years just to identify which planet had the Millenium Falcon came from, despite knowing that they arrived from the Outer-Rim. The array of desolate planets was, after all, ruled by the Hutt clan—and despite the immunity they enjoyed from being deliberately ignored by the Empire, it would still be a stupid move for them to document anything that could link any of their crimes. And since the Hutt had many, _many_ crimes—well, no one bothered to keep track of _anything_ anymore. 

“Have you asked around?” Piett asked again, “any Imperial stations, ports, markets…”

Klinton groaned. _“Everybody here claims they either know everything or nothing at all.”_ He grumbled, _“There was this one guy who claimed he’d been classmates with the boy, swore on his mother’s grave that he got his name. Another guy said that the boy had been his apprentice or something. I’m 100% sure they’re lying.”_ He rolled his eyes, _“You put a reward on someone’s head and suddenly everybody claimed that he’s their grandma’s boyfriend’s daughter’s sister’s roommate or something.”_

“Well, they’re poor.” Piett said, dryly. “And the poor would do anything for money.” He cleared his throat, then. “So where are you going next?”

 _“Probably Mos Eisley.”_ Said Klinton, _“It’s a bigger port there, so maybe someone knows something, despite—you know—it happening three years ago.”_ He sighed. _“All I’m hoping is that it’s less hot there—and less sandy! They get everywhere, fuck’s sake.”_

Piett snorted. “It’s a desert planet.” He pointed out, “Sand’s kind of a given.” 

_“Can’t a man hope, Piett?”_

_Touche._ Piett half-smirked, letting it go. “You’re leaving right now, then?” he asked, instead. “It’s—what? Noon there, right?” 

_“With that twin suns, it’s_ always _noon.”_ Klinton said, dryly. _“But no; I’m leaving tomorrow. Today I gotta visit this place.”_ Piett saw his face lit up as he continued, _“You wouldn’t believe this, but I found this old workshop turned some sort of a museum-slash-shrine, and—get this; everybody says it’s where Anakin Skywalker used to grow up!”_

A beat passed. Piett paused, trying to digest Klinton’s words. “Anakin… Skywalker?” He repeated Klinton, warily. “The Jedi, Anakin Skywalker?” 

_“Yeah!”_ Said Klinton, excitedly. _“Like, I know we should say fuck the Jedis, forget about them, they don’t exist and all that shit—but he was my childhood hero, man. He was kind of a fucking Legend back in the day.”_ His half-hearted smirk was now turning into a full-blown grin. _“Apparently he’s from this city; now they don’t teach us_ that _in our history books—but the locals worship the shit out of him.”_ He shrugged. _“Which is fair, actually. Not like they have anything else to brag about.”_

Piett closed his eyes, scrunching it as he tried to think. “Hold on,” He said, raising a hand, “are you saying that Anakin Skywalker came from _Tatooine?”_

Klinton scoffed at that, _“how are you still slow even when you’re already an Admiral?”_

But Piett was no longer listening. He was—stupefied was a pretty good word, as the wheels in his mind were suddenly grinding, working, _thinking._

He glanced at The Boy’s picture at his research matrix display; there was the blue eyes, the mop of blonde hair, the dimple chin. He’d grown familiar with his face, but now—now a part of him instinctively wondered; comparing this face to someone else’s, someone that everybody had known in the past. 

The War General. The Jedi Knight. The Hero with no Fear. 

_Could it be—?_

Piett shook his head before his mind could wander too far. Tatooine was a large planet, with so many people residing inside it. Likelihood and similarities often happened to someone who were not even related at all, especially if they were coming from the same area. Besides—no one in that town _knew_ of the boy, so—it couldn’t _be,_ right?

Fate wouldn’t be _this_ crazy—this _cruel_ , right?

_Right?_

_“Piett, you listening?”_

“Yeah, yeah,” The Admiral snapped out of his trance, blinking—once, twice, “Keep me updated on the findings you have, Klinton.” He said, “Anything, _anything_ at all.” He stressed on the last part, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency to _know._

 _“Jeez, okay.”_ Klinton replied, raising an eyebrow. _“As if that’s not already my job, but—okay, boss.”_

Piett nodded, and he said a terse goodbye before he shut the holo, feeling the pit on his stomach deepening as his mind started making assumptions. 

He remembered how Lord Vader had been—aboard the Death Star, three years ago; remembered how protective he was to the Princess, how desperate he was to ensure her safety that he was willing to destroy the Empire’s greatest weapon. Piett _remembered_. 

If Piett’s assumptions had been correct, then—he wouldn’t even dare to _imagine_ Lord Vader’s reactions upon finding out that he’d basically ordered a bounty competition to catch his—

_His—_

_Let’s not go there,_ Piett told himself firmly, shaking his head. Nothing had been confirmed, yet, after all. And he wasn’t about to make his life harder with questioning the _what-ifs._

There was a call to his comms, and Piett picked it up, seeing one of his soldiers materialized before him.

 _“Admiral,”_ Said the officer, _“One of our hunters had reported a sighting for the Millenium Falcon around the Anoat System.”_ He elaborated. _“He said that it seemed like they have three life-forms inside, though the identity of the passengers could not be confirmed.”_

“Millenium Falcon?” Repeated Piett, incredulously. “Are they alone? Are there other rebel ships nearby?”

 _“We don’t think so, sir. It seemed like they were traveling alone.”_ Replied the officer. _“Should we… should we make a move, Sir? tell the hunter to apprehend them, perhaps?”_

Piett paused, thinking. The Millenium Falcon had been the Empire’s top wanted ship, alongside its crew, with each of their heads worthy of plenty currency. It would be a massive victory if they managed to catch it, but—

_Three life-forms._

The last time he witnessed that plane flying, the Princess and the boy had been inside. From reports of sightings and pursuit, the princess herself had very much been _often_ inside that ship, almost every time it was sent flying, probably. 

_Three life-forms._

_She could be in that ship._ Heck, they _both_ could be on that ship. 

Piett didn’t want to take any chances. 

“Don’t—do anything _yet.”_ Said Piett, finally. “Just… tell him to keep an eye on them, where they’re going.” He said, “I will inform Lord Vader. He will decide on what to do.” 

_“Very well, Admiral.”_

Piett nodded, tensely. “Dismissed.” He waved a hand, and the officer dissipated, leaving Piett alone in his office, _thinking._

As he dialed Lord Vader soon after, he hoped that he was doing the right thing with _all_ this. 


	4. four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Leia having a siblings bonding moment, soothing each other while enjoying the beach, however imaginary--what more could you ask for?

The way Obi-Wan had spoken of Yoda—one would think that he was the wisest Jedi Master at his time, bearing many truths of the universe, and even beyond. 

Luke wasn’t really sure about that, though.

“fast enough, you were not.” The old master had whacked his head with his clawed, small hand, causing Luke to yelp in surprise—and pain. "And slouch, do not.” He added, slightly yanking his hair as he did so.

"Ow!" Luke yelped, glancing up at the old Master with protest in his eyes. "What was that _for?!"_

"Teaching you." Said Yoda, sagely, like this was a normal part of his exercise. Maybe it was—Luke wasn't sure; his only experience with the force was Ben's scarce guidance and Ahsoka's reluctance sessions. 

"Do you _really_ need to hit?" Grumbled Luke, slightly heaving. He's already riding Luke's back—what more could he possibly _want?_

He heard Yoda sighing, like he was personally inconvenienced by this event when Luke was the one _carrying_ him through their walk in the forest. "Patience, you must learn." He said, with that ever-calm, almost patronizing tone of his. 

"Well I would've been patient had you not hit me every two _seconds!"_

The old man merely made a noise— something between a chuckle and a snort. "You must learn, this is why." He said, solemnly. "Now; again, you will start."

Huffing, Luke obliged, once again running through the muddy jungle, as Yoda instructed. Panting heavily, he continued his course; climbing the tree barks, jumping over the roots, running through the heavy fog, flipping through the air, with the old Master still strapped firmly on his back. He was doing so well, until—

**_Luke! Answer me!_ **

Luke yelped, sticking to a barely dignifying landing next to where his freighter had crashed, gasping for breath.

He furrowed his brows, Leia’s voice pleading in his head—had been since this morning, growing urgent after days of silence. He wanted to reply, wanted to respond, but she couldn’t choose a worse time than right now; with them still not making up from _that_ day and him still in intensive training. _Later, Lei,_ he said, grumbling in his mind before shutting her out. ****

Artoo yelped, rolling at him despite the muddy landscape, and Luke was touched at the Droid’s fervent care for him, caressing his dome head as a form of gratitude.

Master Yoda, from behind him, slowly climbed down, as if nothing had happened. “Tired, are you?” he asked, cheekily, waddling his way to face Luke with his staff. Luke, still trying to regulate his intakes of air, spared the master a tired glance; he looked serene as always, like he wasn’t just being strapped to Luke’s back and taken to a jungle survival course while riding a human. 

Luke tried to answer—he really did; it was just really hard to breathe right now, with all his adrenaline draining and the tiredness settling deep in his bones. He’d gone to at least 4 rounds, after all. He deserved a _break._

“Because you draw strength from the wrong place, that is.” Yoda said, looking up at Luke with twinkling eyes. Luke narrowed his brows, confusion coloring his face. Yoda looked around, then, waving his free hand around them. “From the Force, a Jedi's strength is.” He said, his eyes bright as he gazed at his surroundings, as if he was seeing something beyond the thick, bleak fog. “Feel it, can you?” 

“Yeah, I can feel it just fine…” Said Luke, his voice unsure. He was familiar with the force, could even feel its physical tangibility, sometimes—when he was learning with Ahsoka, or communicating with Leia. But the force felt like a dull knife for him, something whose efficacy was fleeting and unpredictable, rather than acute and precise. 

As if reading his mind, Yoda shook his head. “Not as you should.” He said, and Luke’s curiosity piqued. “Close your eyes. Empty your mind.” His little hand touched Luke’s forehead, and instinctively Luke followed his instructions, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “Feel everything around you; the movements of the wind, the wetness of the ground, the chirps of the birds.” Luke could almost see him—moving around, “the works of the force, these are. Part of you, this is.” 

Slowly, surely, Luke felt it as well; the budding energy, swirling, soothing, guiding him; just like that day on his X-Wing during the battle of Yavin, years ago. It was clearer this time, buzzing under his fingertips, softly humming on his eardrums, calling him using things older than words. 

“Beyond simple power, the force is.” He could hear Yoda’s voice, but it was muffled, faraway as Luke grew more comfortable with the lulls of the unknown around him. “Life and death, it is—and everything in between.” 

“There is no death, there is the force.” Luke mumbled, still closing his eyes; recalling the words Ben had said to him in that ship, years ago. 

_Ben._

_His body, dangling mid-air on the hangar of the Death Star, begging them to run with strained voice—_

_Vader, opposite of him, his glove-clad hand squeezing empty air and yet somehow Ben was gasping for breath, his face turning blueish pale as seconds passed—_

_Luke screaming for him as Han dragged them away, his anger and despair mixing to one; he could feel the fear, taste it on his tongue as he begged for Ben, Ben,_ **_Ben—_ **

“Yes, yes! Learning, you are.” Yoda’s voice was giddy, but it was getting murkier, as the lulls got louder, and the whispers grew stronger. 

_Ben’s gentle voice now a mere echo, his kind face now a mere shadow, his presence reduced to a ghost because of the Empire, because of_ **_Vader—_ **

Luke’s attention was divided, captivated as it called; **_follow me,_ ** it said, as the swirl around him grew more powerful, more domineering, **_come child, follow the father before you, feel the power, the strength we offer..._ **

_“No!”_

Luke opened his eyes, so startled he almost fell from the way Yoda had practically hit his thigh with his staff. “Ow!” He said, yelping as he leaned to his side, trying to regain his balance. “What was that for?” He asked, rubbing his stinging leg with confusion. 

The ancient master looked angry—and _afraid._ “The Dark side, you just contacted.” He said, and when he spoke he was no longer mirthful; instead he looked solemn and serious. “Anger… fear… aggression. Those are the dark side of the force.” He shook his head. "With lies and corruption, it is filled. Be aware, you must."

Blinking, Luke widened his eyes. “The _Dark?”_ He said, incredulously, feeling dread climbing up to him. “Like… like the one that Vader uses?” 

Yoda looked away, sighing—and Luke felt the insides of his stomach knotting. He had just almost—almost used the same power as—

“Easily they flow, quick to join you.” Yoda said, his hands moving around. “If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny; consume you, it will—” The Ancient Master halted, and now he looked sad and regretful. “—as it did Obi-Wan’s apprentice.” 

_Vader,_ he meant—so it was _true._

Luke gulped, watching Master Yoda walking away, mumbling to himself. His mind still reeled at the aftertaste of the call, first soft, then climbing to a harsher crescendo; loud and dominating his thoughts, promising him many things. There was almost no transition to that, almost no warning, no— “How am I to know the difference?” Luke asked, desperately. “Between the Light and the Dark?” 

The Master paused, turning at him with a softer gaze. “Learn, you will.” He said, and somehow even if his voice was quiet Luke heard it echoing _loud,_ like it was amplified by the divine. “When you are calm; at peace; passive. A Jedi,” He lowered his posture slightly, touching plants and the animal on its leaf as he spoke, “uses the force for knowledge and defense—” he said, caressing the small butterfly on a flower’s petal. “ _Never_ for an attack.” 

Luke watched him, still stunned, still _thinking._ His mind kept coming back to the force, the blurred line between light and dark, and how it had called him; _come child, follow the father before you, feel the power, the strength we offer…_

“It said ‘follow the father before you _._ ’”

Yoda paused, his gentle movement stopping, but he did not look up. “What?” 

“The—Dark, whatever it was—” Luke shivered. “It told me to—follow the father before me.” He said, creasing his forehead. “Why is it saying that?” 

_He remembered the stories uncle Owen had told him in passing; his father was a brave but reckless pilot. Remembered the fond tales Ben entertained him with; his father was a chivalrous Jedi warrior. Remembered the respect Chancellor Mothma displayed when she spoke of him; the bright general that uplifted the morale of the past wars._

_His father—Anakin Skywalker—was a great man. A good man._

_So why did the force—?_

“No! No.” Yoda’s voice interrupted his thought, and Luke took a sharp intake of breath in surprise, as the Master shook his head in urgency. “There is no why,” He frowned, “Nothing more will I teach you today. Clear your mind of questions.” He said, before muttering to himself, walking away from Luke as quick as his little legs could take.

Luke could hear Artoo beeping in the distance, rather angrily, at the Master—but Luke was just _confused._ Why was Yoda suddenly so distraught? What did the Force mean? “Master, wait—” He said, trying to catch up with him while grabbing his shirt from a nearby tree branch and pulled it on. 

**_Come with me… are you not curious?_ **

Luke paused. He heard it again; the lull, the _voice._ He turned to see a huge, dead, black tree, its base surrounded by a few feet of water. Giant, twisted roots form a dark and sinister cave on one side. Luke stared at the tree, trembling. 

The voice, as if realizing Luke’s attention, grew even more gleeful. **_Yes, child, here._** It said, its call echoing through the fog, **_Come to me._**

“There’s—” Luke swallowed the thickness in his throat. “There’s something not right in here.” He took a deep, sharp breath. “I feel—cold,” He recalled having similar feelings, back then; when he found out of his scorched house in Tatooine, when he witnessed of Ben’s torture, when his men in the Battle of Yavin began toppling down, _massacred_ by the Empire, by Vader— _“death.”_

He swore he spoke softly, quietly—and yet Yoda stopped, rather abruptly. The Old Master turned at him, then at the cave, as if unsure on what to do. Then he looked around, and Luke could see him muttering something to himself, his eyes furrowing, as if asking questions to the unknowns. 

_“...sure, you are?”_

“Who are you talking to?” Asked Luke, worriedly, as he took slow steps to approach Yoda. Was it another force-ghost? Was it _Ben?_

And then, Yoda sighed, shaking his head. “However strong I am, deny the wills of the force, I cannot.” He said, his mouth pulled into a tight smile. “As it turns out; over, your trial has yet to be.” Luke watched as the old master walked back to him, using his staff as leverage. “That place… strong with the Dark, it is. A domain of evil.” 

Luke’s heart skipped a beat in shock. “What?”

“In, you must go.” 

_“What?!”_

Artoo trilled unhappily. _[I do not care who you are!]_ he said, his beeps stacked and rushed, _[if you endanger the variant, I will come for you!]_

Luke blinked, turning to Artoo sharply. Did the Droid just _threaten_ a Master Jedi for him? 

But Yoda shushed the bot, giving him a side-eye. “Not my will, it is. The Force’s path, he must take.” He sounded reluctant, as if he himself didn’t even want to instruct Luke to go there, but _had to._

Gulping, Luke looked at the cave’s opening again, feeling the sinister energy pulling him in. “What’s… in there?” He asked, hesitantly. He was torn—part of him was _dying_ to know, but another was _afraid._

Yoda reached his side at last, and Luke averted his gaze from the cave to the master. “Only what you take with you.” he told Luke, solemnly. He watched the Old Master, warily, grabbing his weapons bag, and was about to fasten it to his hip when the the Master exclaimed. “Your weapons! You will not need them!” 

Luke’s hands hesitated, looking between Master Yoda and the Cave. he could still hear the voices, calling for him, demanding him to come—almost threateningly. He could feel chills, running down his spine. 

He didn’t want to take any chances. 

Ignoring Yoda’s words, he clipped the bag, and went into the cave, lightsaber ready in his grip. 

Upon entering, it felt like every source of light available before was zapped out of the place, leaving Luke in total darkness, as the only sound available were dribbles of water and the echoes of his footsteps. He could no longer hear the lures of whatever was calling him there, but—soon, he heard something _else._

_“Luke!”_

Dread climbing him, Luke sucked a sharp breath. 

He knew that voice. 

“Leia?” He called out, spinning around, looking for her. The cave was wet, and slimy, but it suddenly didn’t feel quite like just a cave anymore. It felt like it was—a puzzle, a maze, hiding something, keeping something from him—

_“Luke! Help me!”_

_His sister?_

Anxiety was running down his nerves as Luke looked around to the crevices, his mind temporarily blank, almost unable to recall where he truly was. “Leia, where are you?!” He called, desperately, with his voice _and_ his mind. _She couldn’t be here, she was safe and far away; Force, she just contacted him earlier, not an hour ago—_ “Where are—” 

_“Please, Luke, please!”_

“Biggs?!” He was now turning on his saber, and despite the additional light, it felt like the space was only expanding, widening, extending his range of search. Luke grew panicking, fearful as echoes of his family and loved ones—Biggs, Chewie, Han, Threepio, Artoo, _Leia—_

**_Come child, use me—and you might be able to save them…_ **

“Where _are_ you?!” Luke’s voice was cracking, stress getting through him as he could hear their voices growing distant, and he ran to one of the archways of the cave— “Leia, _where—?”_

Only to then halt. Stop. Held his breath in the sudden quiet. 

For Darth Vader had walked out of the path, his red saber lit and ready to fight. 

“You,” Luke said, shocked, before turning to anger. _“You!”_

_You tortured some of my friends, killed the rest of them, destroyed so many people—_

Luke didn’t think; he charged headfirst, his saber swishing in aggression, as Vader blocked them expertly. Luke gritted his teeth, determined, as he ducked before attempting on slashing Vader’s side. The Dark Lord roared, giving Luke an assault he barely missed. Luke jumped, aiming for his leg to disable him, but then he was pinned to the walls of the cave—by ghost hands. 

_The Force. Vader’s power._

**_He uses the Dark, child. Using the Light will not help you defeat him._ **

**_And you need to defeat him—if you want to save your friends, that is._ **

Screaming, Luke called all the forces—the _powers—_ that would listen to him, and _pushed_ the man— _machine?_ He didn’t really know; part of him _dreaded_ to find out—away, reigniting his saber and wasting no time; at his weakest, Luke struck, slashing the Sith’s head for his reaping, leaving his body fall like crumpled doll as Vader’s head bounced off to the corners of the cave.

Heaving, Luke approached for the head, a sense of empty victory filling his chest. He touched the helmet; it was cracked—he could see the fragments chipping on the side, so he turned to see Vader’s face—

And gasped, jumping away. 

For the face was _his own,_ staring at him with empty eyes; blue halfway obliterated with an eternally dancing golden flames.

Luke looked away, heaving. From his peripheral, he could see the face contorting, turning into another person’s similar to him but not _quite;_ with the same sandy blonde hair, dimple chin, and one long scar across his golden-flaming blue eye— _who?—_ but Luke didn’t care. 

Instead he ran out, almost tripping on his way—which felt unusually longer than when he first came in—only stopping when stilted sunlight and fogged trees finally hit his eyesights.

He could hear Yoda and Artoo, calling for him in worry, but at that moment he didn’t _care._

Instead, he closed his eyes, reached out to the link he had known so well since birth, and for the first time since their screaming match, reached out to _her._

_Hear me… Leia._

* * *

_Luke?!_

Leia stopped biting her fingernails, abruptly standing up—startling Han and Chewie in the process. She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding, because after a painfully long _six days,_ finally, _finally_ Luke was in her head again, talking to her. 

**_Leia!_ ** She could hear Luke, calling her with that accent that was almost uniquely _his--_ pronouncing her name like _Lai-yah,_ not quite _Ley-ya--_ sounding as relieved as she felt, though there was a sense of urgency in his voice, a sense of desperation. **_Where are you? Are you safe?_ **

He was heaving, and he sounded— _worried,_ extremely so; like he had just witnessed something awful, something atrocious. 

“Princess?” She could hear Han calling her worriedly, but as of then she didn’t care. She raised a finger, silencing everyone behind her, as she tried to attune herself to the presence of her brother. 

“I have to—” She said, distractedly, half-trying to keep Luke in her mind. She didn’t continue—couldn’t care less as she bolted down the ladder of the Falcon, to the room where she and Luke first shared their griefs, all those years ago. 

**_Lei, come on—_ **

_I’m fine._ Leia said, immediately settling to the pile of blankets and closing her eyes, picturing the beach once more in her head and shielding everything and _everyone_ out of her mind except for her brother. _Wait._

She blinked once, and she felt the coarse sand under her feet. Blinked twice, and she could feel the water coating her skin. Blinked thrice, and could feel the wind, caressing her stray hairs, softly. 

When she blinked for the fourth time, Luke was in front of her—sweaty, wearing an ugly, stained shirt from _Force knows where,_ and breathing labored like he just finished running from _death,_ but he was _there._

“Luke!” She yelped, crashing herself headfirst to him, and finding that he, too, met her halfway, clutching her like she was a slippery slope and he could lose her from his grim at any second. “Oh Force, you annoying _shit!_ You got me _worried sick!”_ She said, her voice thick and her eyes tearful as she buried her face to his shoulders. 

He must be so shaken, because he didn’t rebut the crude nickname she just bestowed upon him. Instead Luke tightened his embrace, murmuring “I’m sorry,” over and over again, “Force, Lei—I’m so sorry—”

When he spoke, he didn’t sound like The Man, whose voice felt like it was coming from another world, from an unknown plane. He was grounded, and he was _there,_ before her, their force presence intertwined like it had meant to be since their birth. But there was an edge to his voice, a desperation there, and Leia slowly distanced herself—enough so she could still maintain her embrace but could look at his face, properly. 

“Hey, hey Luke,” She said, gently, _worriedly._ “What’s wrong, hey—Luke, look at me.” She said, one hand moving to touch his chin, tilt him down to see her. “What’s _wrong?”_

But Luke shook his head, choking back _something—_ a cough? A sob?—as he pressed his lips tight. His eyes were glassy, and he looked at her with all the worry in the world, like she was in danger, like she was _lost._

“Luke, hey.” Leia swallowed all her griefs, her own worries, and instead chose to caress his head now, pulling him down and touching his forehead to hers. “Hey, Luke, I got you.” She murmured, looking at him with big brown eyes, trying to soothe him despite her own gnawing heart. “Hey, breathe with me okay? Inhale—hold it in, one, two, three, four, five—now exhale; that’s good…” 

They did it several times, until Luke’s labored breathing had calmed down as they slowly lowered themselves to the sand, feeling the little rough beads pressing to their skins. Luke swallowed roughly, trying to dissolve the tension keeping his posture so straight, even when he was sitting down with her. 

Slowly, slowly; he deflated, posture slouching as he finally leaned to her, closing his eyes to her shoulder, breathing calming down. “Thanks, Lei-Lei.” he murmured, snuggling closer to her. 

“No problem,” She said, giving him a small, wary smile as she pressed closer to him. “Now; care to tell me what’s wrong, kiddo?” 

“Still don’t know which one of us was born first, so don’t push it.” 

“We both know whichever of us it was, I have the bigger older sibling energy.” 

Luke snorted, but unlike most of the times where they fell into this banter, he chose to let it go quickly, instead he sighed, dejectedly, giving Leia an empty smile. “Fine.” He said, softly. “Could really use being the younger sibling right now.” 

He was still shivering, even now, and Leia’s smile melted into worry, as she looked down to him. “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.” She said, quietly. “Fulcrum said you were in Dagobah, training with Yoda.” She began, tentatively, her tone fearful. Luke was filthy, and he was bruised. “What did he—?”

But Luke shook his head, quickly. “He didn’t do _anything,”_ He said, solemnly, taking some of Leia’s stress with those words. “Other than whacking my head with a staff and riding my back while sagely lecturing me, that is.” He snorted, and Leia exhaled, letting go of her own tension at his lightened words. Yet then Luke’s eyes grew darker, his force presence colder as he continued. “But I—Leia, I—” He stuttered then, words lost on him as she felt his body tensing back up, as if recalling a bad memory. 

Leia was immediately on alert, gripping Luke tightly. “What is it, Lu?” She coaxed, softly. 

Taking a shuddering breath, Luke opened his mouth, slowly, surely, trying to get words to come back to him. “I was at this—cave—” He said, his voice slightly trembling. “And I heard your—voice, screaming; there was Biggs, too—and Han—” He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing on his throat, “you were all begging for my help—you were all in pain, and it—it was dark,” She narrowed her eyes as he closed his, as if going back to the memory he was trying to recall. “And I kept feeling this— _anger;_ it’s so consuming, sickening, it’s like it’s _inside_ me, a part of _me—”_ She sucked a sharp breath as Luke continued, “And then _Vader—_ showed up.” 

“Oh _Force_ ,” Leia could feel his fear, his fury, all tangling to one messy web. Even she was suffocated by it, as she grabbed his now cold hands, feeling hers had grown freezing as well. _Vader had known where Luke was?_ “How did he—are you—?”

Luke shook his head, immediately. “No, no!” He reassured her, immediately. “It wasn’t—he wasn’t _real,_ it was just—” He shook his head, “It’s hard to explain; it feels like he was a manifest of my—feelings?” He said, voice upturned as Leia held her breath in anticipation. “I duelled him, and I managed to cut his head off, but then it was—” He choked, “under the helmet it was—” 

Leia could feel the dread before Luke spilled his words. 

“It was _me,_ Lei.” He said, his voice thick and fearful. “Under the mask, it was my head, my _face,_ with fire dancing in my own kriffing eyes _—”_

And then he crashed again, to her embrace, as Leia was stunned—unsure of what to do. “It’s just—” She croaked, after a while of only running her hand to his back, trying to soothe him. “It’s just a hallucination, Luke.” She tried again. “Just an illusion. Nothing real.” She told him, holding his cheeks to her palms. “You are _not_ Vader, you’re my _brother.”_ She said, softly. “And Luke Skywalker is _good.”_

“Right now!” Luke protested, distancing himself away from her. “Who’s to say that I won’t be evil, Lei? I can’t even differentiate between the Light and the Dark!” He heaved, much to Leia’s heartbreak. “What if I call for the force and—and the Dark was the one that answered then when I realized it was already too _late?”_

Luke was spiraling. He was heaving and panting and his pupil blown wide and he was spiraling. Leia had to put an end to this, put an end to her brother’s suffering. “Luke Skywalker, _look at me.”_ She used her general voice, practically demanding him to. 

It worked. Luke instinctively looked at her, like a soldier under her command.

Leia took a deep breath. Blue met brown. 

“You’re only six days in,” Leia said, softly. “You’re still learning to control this—Force thing—properly. It’s okay to have slip-ups.” She caressed his sun-dried skin, still chapped even after years of settling in an ice planet, kept by the tales of Tatooine’s twin suns. “What matters is that when you fall, you get up again. And again. And again. Until you won’t fall.” 

“But what if I can’t get _up?”_ Luke whispered, fearfully. “Yoda—this Master that taught me—he said that once the Dark entrapped you, it will forever dominate my destiny.” His blue eyes were so wide, so sad and afraid, that Leia’s heart broke for him, her brother who was dragged to this never-ending war because of _her—_ “What if that’s my destiny? To become _Dark?”_

Leia opened her mouth, trying to give him some faux promises about the future, but she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t have the heart to promise Luke something she couldn’t keep, didn’t have the heart to build his shattered self with empty words that could be easily blown by reality, so instead she kept it simple. “No one knows one’s destiny, Luke.” She said, looking at him intently. “All we have to do is _try_ and hope for the _best.”_ She shook her head, looking at the vast ocean before them, where the sun was perpetually half-sinking, and the sky was just orange enough to be gorgeous but not too blinding. “There’s no use in wondering _what-ifs_ and alternatives.” She told him, feeling the breeze in her face to grapple some solace. “Only adds the headache, and we don’t need headaches right now, don’t we?” 

_(She understood it firsthand; those first nights after Alderaan’s destruction, where she and Winter almost lost their minds running through different scenarios where they could have saved their home—_

_In the end, the thoughts only landed them in headache and chest pains, with Winter sobbing uncontrollably under Leia’s embrace, and Leia swore to never open the conversation again, shove it deep into the crevices of her mind._

_Leia still yearned for her Papa and Mama, now; but she no longer allowed herself to think of what-ifs. Too much pain in there—too much grief and regret and anger and desolation that invites her to drown and never get up._

_And Leia, well—Leia_ had _to get up. She was the Princess; the General; their Leader. If she didn’t get up, then—_

_No one would.)_

“I just—” He said, his voice faint and almost inaudible. “Is it normal? To fear yourself?” 

Leia sighed—Force, she hoped so. Maybe it was a normal thing in the Skywalker-Organa twins household. “Only if we don’t let the fear get to us,” She said, talking to herself just as much as she was talking to him. “Which is—kriff, it’s hard, but we can try together, you know?” she said, "just another twin bonding activity than, you know; trying to win the war."

Luke sighed, shuddering, but Leia finally saw tension truly leaving his body for the first time. “Has anyone ever told you that you give really good pep-talks?” He asked, weakly. "Like--just the right amount of optimism without it sounding too fabricated and wishful." 

“Only everyone,” She replied cheekily, and Luke snorted. "Never you, though, so this was a first." She winked at him. "Not that I don't know it."

"Don't get it to your head now, or it'll tilt for being too big." Luke said, instinctively ruffling her hair, much to her protest--and the fact that none of this was real, neither of them were corporeal, and all of this was just a projection of their essence.

"Says you, Mister 'I-blew-up-the-Death-Star'!" 

"Hey, it's a brag I _earn,"_ Luke's face contorted into faux-hurt, the pout on his lips comically funny that Leia laughed. 

Leia smiled, mirthfully. "Maybe cockiness just runs in our blood." She said, grinning at him, showing him her pearly whites.

At her words, though, Luke's smile dimmed, and he creased his forehead. Leia straightened herself, feeling a serious atmosphere returning. "You okay, Luke?"

"Yeah, yeah." Luke said, quickly assuring her, though his forehead still creased. "Your words, it's just," he paused, perhaps rearranging his words. "Earlier, when the--The Dark called me," Luke finally said, forcing the name out of his mouth. "It said something along the lines of… _following the footsteps of your father."_

Leia froze, her eyes narrowing. Her mind dragged back to The Man, and his anger, and the beach in her mind that shook because of him. 

_What if--?_

"But it's--probably just lies." Luke immediately backtracked, startling her slightly. "I mean, Yoda did say that The Dark… is often deceiving."

"Yeah," Leia said, absent-mindedly. "Yeah, definitely." She paused for a while, before steeling herself to ask one question she suddenly _had_ to ask. "I know I asked before, but--" she looked up at him, her curiosity almost a plea, "but have you--I mean, in dreamscape, like _this--_ -have The Man ever visited you yet?" She queried him, almost hopefully. 

Luke looked down to her, his gaze worried. "The same man from your dreams before?"

"Yeah, but--he was clearer yesterday. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Dimple chin. Scar on his right eye--or was it left? I don't really remember." She said, warily. "He was, um, _monstrously_ tall, though." She continued. "Even taller than Han. But--" she paused, softening. "He kind of looked like you."

Luke looked at her intently, narrowing his eyes. Something shifted in his presence, something akin to--wariness and _doubt?_ "...I would have to check, Lei." Said Luke, carefully. "But… I think you're describing our father."

Leia could detect a tinge of _something_ behind his voice, worry--maybe, but closer to dread. Luke, she realized, was _afraid_ of some implications of her words. 

Swallowing her own worries, Leia steeled herself. "It's probably just _nothing._ " Leia immediately brushed it off, trying to shove her wariness about The Man down yet another locked compartment in her head. "My mind is probably just--really stressed and creative, at the moment." She said, trying to steer him off the conversation. 

"Mmhm," Luke said, tensely. She had a feeling that he would press some more, say some more, but he ended up clamping his lips tight, instead focusing on the waves tickling the soles of their feet. 

They settled into a comfortable silence, leaning to one another on that beach, their feet soaked in water, and then; “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Leia finally said, swallowing her pride. 

It wasn’t—as stinging as she thought it would be, to her ego. Instead when she saw Luke’s wary smile, she felt—lighter, for the first time in a while. “Sorry I was being stubborn—and shut you out.” He said, tightening the hand on her hip. 

Leia shrugged. “You know, part of being siblings is fighting each other like Loth Cats fighting for fish.” She joked, weakly—but Luke laughed anyway, and the beach felt lighter, somehow, like his joy, however fleeting, had improved hers. “Won’t be a true siblings experience if we don’t fight it out at least once every blue Hoth moon.” 

“You’re kind of my first and only sibling, so you kind of have to walk me through this, Lei.” He joked, and it landed just as weak as hers, but she laughed anyway, putting her head to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It was soothing, how they could be separated by thousands of parsecs and could still feel each other through this—whatever connection they have. Leia might still be afraid of the force, but she was also grateful for the link it had given her to Luke. “Force I miss you.” 

Leia mumbled, “Me too, you Dum-Dum.” She said, closing her eyes, “The Falcon’s not as spicy without your one-breath-rant.” 

Luke snorted. “nah, bet you still spice it up with your random lover-spats with Han." He countered, cheekily, causing her to blush. "What's with you two, anyway? Just admit you like one another; I mean look at me and Biggs--we're thriving."

"I--you--we--" Leia spluttered, immediately feeling warm and embarrassed. "I don't like that greasy smuggler!" She protested, throwing her hands up. 

"Sure you don't, baby sis, sure you don't." Luke said, lightly, with no conviction whatsoever in his voice. "And Chewie's not hairy, since we're both telling lies."

Leia huffed, her face now positively scarlet. "You know that thing where I said I miss you two seconds ago? Well it's been revoked. I un-miss you." She pinched his side.

"Ow!" Luke rubbed the spot dramatically. "You're so _mean!"_

"Takes one to know one, Luke." 

Luke pressed his lips, thinking, before finally shrugging. "Alright, fair." He said, lightly, before his face frowned rather comically. "At least the Falcon is dry and sanitary. Here it’s wet everywhere.” He said, and by here Leia assumed wherever he was right now. “And the Master is wise, but he’s—cryptid. Speaks oddly too. Kind of hard to catch up.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I should just—go to you and—” 

Opening her eyes, Leia sucked her breath. 

She remembered why she was so desperate to contact Luke earlier, before all this debacle happened. 

_“No.”_ Leia immediately said, tensing as she straightened herself. “No, Luke, you _stay there.”_ he looked at him intently, her eyes filled with a new kind of fear. “You absorb all that knowledge—defend yourself, Luke. If you get out of there _now_ —” She shuddered, thinking of Fulcrum’s call to her, desperate and urgent, last night. “They will _catch you.”_

Her brother straightened himself as well, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “Leia, what—?”

“The Empire is looking for you,” Leia rushed to explain, and now she couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice, no matter how hard she tried. 

“Yeah, they’re basically looking for all of us—”

“No, Luke, you don’t _get it!”_ Leia yelled, frustration getting through her. “Vader himself is leading the search, and he’s hiring a bunch of bounty hunters and mercenaries—for _you!”_ She said, heaving, “They all want your _head!”_

A silence passed between them, as Leia heaved and Luke looked stunned. “What—” He said, finally; his words stuttering and hesitant. “How did you—” 

“Fulcrum told me.” Leia said, feeling her budding anger dissipating, replaced with bone-deep exhaustion. “She commed last night, Luke—they’re hiring _everyone_ for _you.”_ She said, fearfully. “God, some of these mercs—just please—” Leia was begging, right now. _“Please_ don’t come out yet.” 

“But Lei—”

“Luke, _Please.”_

Luke looked at her, and he must’ve seen something in her eyes, because he nodded. “Okay.” He said, resigned. “Okay. I’ll—” he said, hesitantly, “I’ll try my best to stay put.” 

Knowing that it was probably the closest thing Leia could get as a solid promise, she sighed, nodding. No one could really pin Luke Skywalker down _anywhere—_ not even himself and especially not his fussy, temperamental sister. But she’d be damned if she didn’t try. 

They stayed in some more silence, Luke and Leia leaning to one another, functioning as the other’s anchor so that the waves wouldn’t take them. 

"You know, I always wondered." Luke piped up, causing Leia to turn. "Your solace--why a beach?" 

Leia looked at Luke, at his wondering eyes. His solitude was a thick forest, with sunlights peeking through tree branches. Her beach, meanwhile, was the first beach he had ever seen, as his desert planet has little water pools. 

_Why a beach?_

Pausing, Leia realized that she never really thought about it. The first time she accessed the force plane in its full form, the thing that greeted her was the beach, with their coarse sand and the vast, never-ending water. 

Luke once told her that his plane had been a forest because it felt like Yavin; felt like his first taste of victory, of acceptance, of the beginning of something new. 

Trying to find what motivated her beach, Leia racked her brain. "I guess because--" she said, softly. "The wave returns to the ocean." 

"What?"

She chuckled, her smile wistful. "It's something that my papa used to say." She said, picturing Bail Organa and his kind face. She thought of--

_Papa, and his strict voice but kind smile, with his fried Nubian rice he used to make her and Winnie when they were younger, at the memories of him and Mama, grinning to one another, so in love when they thought Leia and Winter weren't looking--_

_"We are all waves waiting to return to the ocean." He always said. "But just because our tides crash, doesn't mean the water is no longer there."_

Leia took a deep breath.

_Those first few months after Alderaan… she and Winter always came to Yavin's beach, at least once a week. Feeling the water caressing their toes, the whispers of the wind soothing their heads._

_No matter what happens to the universe, the amount of water in the galaxy stays the same._

"I guess the memory of it… makes being calm easier." 

Luke looked at her, and Leia could see his confusion from her peripheral, subtle and somewhat innocent. She thought he was going to ask more, but then he said, softly. "Your Papa," he began, "seemed like a wonderful man." 

_Papa, caressing her braided hair as he hummed her a lullaby in ancient Alderaanian. Papa, teaching her how to code and to spy and to lead._

Leia leaned closer to him. "Yeah." She said, wistfully. "He was." She looked up to him, her gaze wistful. "He would have loved to meet you." 

Luke gave her a vulnerable smile. "I'm sure I would have loved to meet him, too." He said, pulling her head to his shoulder. It felt like forever and not enough when Luke finally said, “I have to go… they’re calling for me," hugging her tighter. 

Leia sucked a deep breath. “Okay.” She said, voice small, before she cleared her throat to strengthen herself. _Not in front of him. Do not be weak in front of him._ “You take care, okay? And _don’t.”_ She paused, emphasizing the last word dramatically, recalling on him shutting her out. “try to leave me alone _ever_ again.” 

Snorting, Luke nodded, giving the side of her forehead a kiss. “Love you, Lei.” 

“Love you too, Luke.” But when she looked up, he was already gone. 

In his wake, Leia took a deep breath; one, two, three, four—

“Oh, good, you’re _back.”_

_“Gah!”_

When she opened her eyes, Han was right there, in front of her, worry painted all over his face before quickly replaced by relief—then a scarlet blush. When Leia yelped, he was startled as well, stumbling back before he looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Han, what—?” Leia asked, confusion addling her head. 

Han cleared his throat, the scarlet on his cheeks deepening. “I was just—checking.” He said, still averting his gaze from her. “You ran so fast—I thought you were possessed or something.” His last comment was probably said snidely as a defensive effect—but it made Leia chuckle nonetheless. 

“Don’t worry. No demon is going to possess _this.”_ She said, gesturing at her body, raising a confident eyebrow. 

Han snorted at that, “Yeah, come to think of it—you’re right.” He said, still smirking. “You definitely do not need a space demon to be scary—or menacing.” 

“Watch it now Fly-boy, who are you calling scary?” Leia’s temper flared. Han seemed to sense the beginning of a senseless argument, because he backtracked immediately. 

“Was it the Kid?” He asked, now taking a more comfortable seat before her, his eyes curious. “Because you talked, you know—mumbled, when you’re—like _that.”_ He waved a hand to her, trying to explain without words. 

“Oh.” Leia said, blinking. She’d never had to contact Luke in an audience before. “I did?” 

“Yeah.” Han nodded, “So was it him?” he asked, eagerly—and that was when Leia realized that she wasn’t the only one thinking about Luke, worrying for him. 

"I thought you don't believe in space mumbo jumbos." Leia countered wittily.

Han blubbered, slightly. "well--i'm not!" He said, "but like--twins have telepathy, that's just a Corellian _fact."_

Leia snorted. "Sure. Whatever flies your ship, Nerfherder." 

Han, for once, set aside his needs for bantering back, it seemed, because he diverted back to his first question. "So? The Kid?"

She nodded, pressing her lips. “He’s—fine.” She said, finally, her chest a little fluttery that Han displayed such raw care for her brother. “A little shaken, but—we worked it through.” 

“And—the message? From Fulcrum? You got it through him?” 

Leia nodded, solemnly. “Yeah.” She said, “He’s on lockdown, now—or at least, as best as Luke Skywalker could attempt on going through a lockdown.” She tried, lamely, sheepishly. She snuck a glance at Han, idly wondering how he’d react.

The smuggler sighed, shoulders sagging in relief, before immediately trying to cover his emotions with more snark, “Well, serves him right for ghosting you like that.” 

Leia’s gladness soured. “Don’t be mean to him, he’s going through it.” She protested, rising at the same time he was rising. 

“He’s not even here, Your Worship—” 

“Still, you’re being unnecessarily vindictive to—” Leia paused. Stopped. Trying to control her flaring temper before it could reach unimaginable height—for nothing. “Han, one of these days I am going to grab a plaster and tape your mouth with it, and it will be the best day of my life.”

And the nerve of that smuggler, having the guts to suddenly be flirty. “Only if you kiss it first.” He said, cheekily, before quickly bolting his last steps at the ladder they were climbing. 

Leia sputtered, feeling warmth spreading her cheeks—and chest, enveloping her with a strange feeling of—hope and _affection?_ “Get back here, you Mophead!” 

She was pretty good at shyriiwook, but still nowhere near perfect, so she probably—no, _most definitely—_ translated it wrong when Chewie sighed, _“Ah, young love.”_ **  
**


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's actions quite literally caused quite the panic at the Falcon, and sent her estranged Darth Dad™ into an actual heart attack.

Han didn’t know how it happened, really—it just sort of—well, _happened._

One second he and Leia was fighting—he didn’t even remember fighting for _what,_ exactly, but considering their most recent troubles, it probably had everything to do with their ETA at Bespin—and the next second they were so close, literally inches apart; their breaths mingling with one another, their cheeks blushing, their eyes locked—honey meeting chocolate. 

_Her eyes were so beautiful,_ he thought, _almost golden, like sunshine on an early twilight—_

And then the next second, the ship started to rumble like it was a Corellian tap-dancer trying to win a competition; causing the both of them to lose their balance—and moment.

(It was always like this, with them; always a peaking tango cut at its climax, forced to be buried before they could resolve anything.

Han was never graceful nor lithe, but this back-and-forth was perhaps simultaneously the longest and most beautiful dance he had ever done. The tender moments cut short, the emotional ones spoken in hidden corners under the shadow, and the screaming; so much _screaming_ , from both him and her, perhaps to vent out their own frustration, but also… perhaps to shield what they already knew.

One of these days, Han wished that they could just—crash. Collide. Finally say what they were both dying to hear from one another.)

“Chewie!” Said Han, perhaps more forcefully than he really had to, as he—aggressively, regretfully—turned away from her, looking at the man in the cockpit. “What’s going _on?!”_

 _"Maneuver."_ Grumbled Chewie, his eyes glued to the vast space before them. _"We're being followed."_

Han's annoyance dropped, replaced with shock—and dread. "What do you mean?" He said, immediately assuming the co-captain seat. He could feel Leia's presence behind him, her hands gripping the recliner of his seat tight, slightly pulling it. 

_"Realized him since three hours ago, I think."_ Said Chewie, as he kept a steady pace, going straight ahead. 

"Three hours?!" It was Leia this time, her shrill voice startling Han and Chewie both, as well as the Droids, as it echoed through the Falcon's walls. "Why didn't you say _anything?!"_

 _"Was about to, but."_ Chewie said, pausing. _"you and Han had another bout of lover's-spat, which, while at first is adorable, really it just gets annoying now—"_

"We are _not—_ "

"—having a lover's-spat!" 

The protests were simultaneous, from both him _and_ her, an echo from the other, and Chewie snorted, looking at them with skeptical eyes. 

_"Suit yourself."_ Chewie remarked, as he sped up the ship forward, his focus turning back to the road ahead. It was clear that he didn't believe them one bit.

Han looked at the rearviewer, then, eyes narrowing down to the monitor. And true to Chewie's words, there was a ship. 

A rather equipped ship.

He knew that ship.

"Fett?" Han said, incredulously. "Boba _Fett_ is the one currently chasing us?!" He felt dread rising up to his gut, his spine, his chest. Boba Fett was a formidable bounty hunter, one of Jabba's most treasured agents when he wasn't freelancing.

Chewie grumbled, nodding. _"He's one persistent motherfucker."_

"See, Princess?!" He turned up to Leia, his voice pitched and distressed. "This is why I gotta go and pay Jabba my due!" He looked up at her, worrying not only himself, but also _her._ "Now one of his men is chasing _us!"_

"We don't know if that's the reason why he's chasing us," Leia argued back. "It could be—that’s an asteroid belt.” 

Han stopped. Paused. "What?"

She pointed her finger beyond Han, her face void of any emotion, like she was—stunned.

His head snapped up to the window. 

Leia was _wrong._ That wasn't an asteroid belt. 

"Chewie," Han practically growled, eyes glued to the view before him. "why are you taking us to the midst of a meteorite _shower?"_

 _"If you have a better idea, then I'm all ears."_ Replied Chewie, just as growly. _"But as of now, that ship behind us is armed, and we don't have a Hyperdrive to make a jump—so we have to make do."_

As if on cue, he pulled the gear shift to the machine's maximum capacity, and yelled, _"Hold on!"_

"Leia!" Han instinctively yelled when Leia toppled over, pulling her to sit at her armrest, his hand circling her hips tight to anchor her. She panted, hand gripping Han's shoulder tight.

Threepio and SH-4, meanwhile, nearly stumbled and fell if not for the latter's quick hook sinking to the layers of the Falcon's steel floor. "Oh, My!" Fretted Threepio, his one limb flailing as his other one instinctively grabbing SH-4's head, much to the Med-Droid's protest. "Master Chewie, I think I speak for everyone when I say that you must slow— _down!"_

The ship took a particularly sharp turn, and Han could feel the rumble of the machine, shaking its occupants as it tried to keep up with Chewie's rather risky drive. Han opened his mouth, letting a noise of protest only to yelp as he felt another shake, causing all of them to tilt and the Falcon to stutter.

 _Fuck._ "I think he just hit one of our stabilizers." Han gruffed, now his attention fully on the front. _They had to get out of here._ "Could be that or the—"

“Han! Look out!”

He looked up just in time as they almost hit an asteroid, and they made a sharp turn to the left, causing Threepio to roll over, clanking his gold-plated body over the steel floor. He could hear Leia cursing as she herself fell, before crawling up and helping the Protocol Droid to stand, holding both bots on their ship together as steady as she could.

"Oh, Mistress Leia, I must thank you for—” 

“Goldenrod, much as I love you—” _which wasn’t much, really,_ “—if you wanna get out of this, you would have to shut _up.”_ Han spared a glare to the Droid, which effectively shut him up. Chewie snickered, and Han spared a glare to him, too, before focusing on the obstacle without them. "What's the objective here?" Han gruffly asked.

 _"Trying to hide in-between chunks of asteroids."_ Chewie replied, _"hopefully Fett either got tired and landed early, or got hit by one of those gargantuan space rocks."_

The next few minutes was a deadly game of hide and seek, as Han and Chewie both tried their best to duck their way from shots and space rocks alike. Han lost count on how many times they had narrowly escaped death, and he was starting to feel the stress-induced adrenaline climbing high to his system. 

A sudden hit rocked the ship, causing the Falcon to tip over and stutter, once more. The chances of surviving this encounter was growing smaller by the second, and Han could feel dread brimming at the base of his throat. “Chewie!” He yelled, “We have to make a landing or we’re _never gonna make it!”_

 _“Land?!”_ Chewie exclaimed, his roar echoing throughout the cockpit. _“We’re in the middle of a meteorite ambush, where can we—”_

Han ignored the Wookie’s fussing, and instead tried to look around for a surface steady enough to land but hidden enough to take cover from Fett. He could feel desperation etched deeply to his conscience, steadily climbing up, up, _up—_

“Chewie!” He heard a shrill sound behind him, and looked up to see Leia shooting out her hand, pointing at one spot on the far right of their ship. “There, that cave!” 

The engines were beginning to stutter. Chewie shifted the gear, slammed the console to a downward direction. _“Everybody, hold on!”_ He yelled, as Han grabbed the handle of the the steer, trying his best to stabilize the ship as it descended into its plunging entrance. 

Honestly, it was a miraculous feat they didn’t crash-land and blow up when they entered the darkness. The second the Falcon was stable enough, Han was already standing from his seat, facing Leia and instinctively grabbing her by the hand, pulling her closer to him. 

“You alright?” he asked, quietly, lowering his head to her in concern. The Princess seemed to be taken aback, because her mouth opened but not a single word came out, instead she was only nodding, before snapping her mouth shut, gulping as she looked at him straight in his eyes. 

Even under the shadows, her bright brown eyes still shone brightly, like a flashlight for the lost. A beacon of direction.

_Honey meeting chocolate._

_“Yeah, I’m alright, too, Han, thanks for asking.”_ Chewie’s loud boom made Han jump, startled, and only then did he realize the proximity of himself and Leia, and let go of her hand, suddenly thankful for the darkened interior of the cave as it could shield his clearly embarrassed face. 

Leia cleared her throat, and the bright glint in her eyes were gone, diverted into somewhere else and Han felt a twinge of loss now that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Do you think he’s still chasing us?” She asked, peering over the rearviewer like it could display anything under this lighting.

 _“Pretty sure he thought we’re dead.”_ Chewie said, tapping the dashboard. _“I mean, I’m still amazed we’re not dead yet, considering the crazy angle we had when we took that jump.”_ He snorted, looking around. _“Or is this the Corellian hell you’re so fond of saying?”_

“Nah, there’s no fire here.” Han replied flippantly, immediately fitting into the age-old bantering dynamic he always seemed to have with Chewie. "How long do you think it is until the shower subsides?"

 _"Could be between two hours to two days."_ Said Chewie, sighing. _"Maybe it's a time we can use to fix those broken engines."_ He added, giving Han a rueful smile and clapped his shoulder. 

Leia, meanwhile, looked around the darkened cockpit. "I'll need to make some calls to Winter, then." She said, dejectedly. "we're probably gonna be much later than we thought…" 

Han paused from his walk just at the entrance of the hallway, watching as she flipped her datapad open, punching the commlinks for her sister. It wasn't long until her call was received, and a miniature of Winter appeared before the pad. 

_"Come on, loverboy."_ Chewie's gentle nudge surprised him. " _The sooner we fix those blasted machines, the faster your Princess meets her little sister."_ He said, nonchalantly.

Han blinked, trying to digest Chewie's words. "She's not—Chewie!" He quickly ran to the Wookie, protest ready at the tip of his tongue. 

Through the steel walls, Leia's voice echoed, and Han could hear a faint, sad voice saying, "hey Winnie, yeah, it's me… how are you kiddo? You alright?... Everyone alright?" Further and further away, until it dimmed into an incorrigible echo.

 _"She's a good leader."_ Remarked Chewie, causing Han to turn at his direction. _"Always putting her people first."_

Han sighed, thinking about that night in the cockpit when they first ran, with Leia folding herself as small as she could, trying to contain her own stress so as to not worry everybody else. "Too good." Said Han, absent-mindedly, "sometimes I wonder what would it take for her to finally put herself first." He looked at the hallway somberly. "She's bottling so much, so often and it's—" he exhaled, frustration evident in his tone. "It can't be good, you know? For her?"

He turned to Chewie, who was already halfway descending into the machine room. _"Not like she has a choice."_ He said, dryly. _"She's a General; they look up to her. She knows that she's not allowed a slip-up."_ Chewie spoke so sadly, so somberly, like he himself had experienced the hardships of leading, of being the forefront of a battle.

And then Han remembered; the Kashyyyk invasion; where Chewie had been a commander for his people—and lost. 

Han swallowed, following Chewie to climb down. "Still don't think that's fair, though." he took a deep breath, releasing it heavily. 

Chewie sighed, giving Han a wistful look. _"War's hardly fair, Kid. You know that."_ He said, smiling sadly. And oh; Han _knew._ He knew just how ruthless and unforgiving war could be—with his mother dying in a stormtrooper's hand and his father practically selling him to Shrike as child labor in exchange of credits, because the war had forced his business to close. He knew how desperate people could get in the times of war, how bleak it made the world feel.

But then he pictured the Skywalker-Organa siblings; Luke with his excitable innocence, always trying to see the good in everyone; and always trying to fix things, to help people, to do _good—_

Winter with her timid naivety, her careful words contrasting her childlike joy because she was just a _child,_ sixteen and she was already brought dead center to this war, _nineteen_ and she had to be a _spy—_

and _Leia—_ Leia, the girl who wanted to do good in the names of the planet and people she owed to; Leia, whose words were fuel for the Rebellion's spirit.

He just… didn't want them to feel it, too. 

_"Hey."_ Chewie's call startled him. The Wookie gestured softly, urging him to follow. _"come on, let's fix the engines. I'm pretty sure it'll make your Princess a little bit happier."_

Han grumbled, automatically. "She's not my princess," though his heart felt warm at the reference. "She's not anyone's. She's her own person."

Chewie laughed, quietly, moving aside so Han can make a proper landing to the lower level. _"You're drinking your respect women juice today, I see."_ He said, and Han could see mischief glinting in his eyes amidst the darkness. _"You know; you're improving a lot better than your days with Qi'ra—I'd have to say I'm impressed."_

Han groaned, massaging his temple. " _Don't_." He grumbled, tone filled with warning as he followed Chewie to check the wirings. 

_"Fine, loverboy. I won't."_ Chewie raised a hand, feigning surrender. _"Now grab that toolbox, we have work to do."_

Throwing himself to fix the machineries was something he had always loved to do, especially considering the fact that it felt like a second nature to him. He wouldn't need to think anything too deeply—for anything was technical, practical, nothing too complicated or complex or _feely._

Han was good at many things—smuggling, piloting, shooting, fixing his bucketbolt ship—feelings was just… never one of them. 

_Guess that was the downside of being raised in the streets._

He lost time trying to tinker and fix everything, letting himself lose to the hums of the machine. It was calming, somehow, just him and Chewie and—

_"Ah!"_

Han stopped welding the iron pipes, his entire body tensing. He immediately lifted his mask, looking up to the hole leading upstairs. 

Leia was shrieking. 

"Your Worship?" He half-exclaimed, panicking as he cluttered the tools haphazardly to the floor, much to Chewie's protest. "Leia, are you—?" 

He was halfway reaching the upper floor just as Leia's face peered down, anxiety-stricken. "There's something out there!" She said, her voice tinged with urgency. 

Han paused, looking at her intently. "Where?"

Leia tilted her head slightly, indicating upwards. "Outside the cave." 

Behind her he could hear a faint trot and a panicking trill of, "Oh Dear! Oh Dear!" From Threepio, and not long after there was a loud, crashing sound, as if something had hit the exterior of the ship. 

Han looked at Leia, then at the Falcon's ceiling, and made up his mind. "I'm going out there." He gruffly said, shedding the rest of his tool belt and climbing up. 

"Are you crazy?!" Leia exclaimed behind him. "It could be Fett, or some other stuff—"

Han picked up an oxygen mask, storming to the landing dock. "This bucket is my kid, I'm not gonna let something tear it apart!" He said, turning at her. 

_I won't let this bucket be torn apart. Not when you're in it._

Blink. Pause. _Whoa._ Where did _that_ thought come from? 

He was lucky he was already wearing the mask, obscuring his face, because he was sure that it was red already. 

"Then I'm coming with you!" Exclaimed Leia, already grabbing her own oxygen mask, trailing him from behind. 

Han gulped, feeling nervous now that she was involved. "Suit yourself." He tried to be nonchalant, "but stay _close."_

They passed Threepio, who tottered around and said, rather nervously, "I think it's better for everyone if I stay and guard the ship—"

"Sure, Threepio." Said Han, absent-mindedly, as he opened the hatch, letting the stairs down. He muted out what the rest of the Bot had to say, instead opting to observe beyond the darkness of the cave.

"Huh." Said Leia, upon setting her feet to the surface of the cave. "Ground sure feels strange." And it was—with the odd slimy consistency and the sensation as if he was stepping on wet _flesh._ "Doesn't feel like rocks." 

Strange indeed. 

"There's an awful lot of moisture in here." Gruffed Han, keeping Leia on his peripheral the whole time as he observed around. 

Leia wandered further, near the back of the ship, trying to gain more insight. "I don't know," he heard her say, "I have a bad feeling about this…"

"Yeah," Han turned to look at her, trailing at her steps warily. His eyes took around the surroundings, and paused when something seemingly flapped from the side of the ship where she was nearest to—and felt his stomach dropping. "Watch out!" He exclaimed, pulling and shooting his blaster just in time as the creature started to shriek and attack her.

 _"Kriff!"_ Leia leaped, instinctively distancing herself away from the fallen creature. Han approached her, pulling her by the arm, keeping her close.

"It's alright!" He exclaimed, when Chewie asked what was wrong from the other side of the ship. "It's alright, it's alright." He added, quieter this time to soothe Leia's tense body, trying to send her the calm she needed. "Let's see what that is…" he said, then, approaching the creature closer. "Oh."

It was a mynock—slimy little creature, liked moisture and environments filled with organisms. Han narrowed his eyebrows, confused. 

He might have dropped out of school but he still remembered biology. And he remembered that mynocks were parasites, leeching themselves to a bigger organic to survive. 

But there were no other visible creatures everywhere—and the mynocks were unnaturally _large._

"Chewie, check the ship's surroundings. " Said Han, looking at the dead creature intently. "We gotta make sure there aren't any more of those, chewing on the power cable." _Or something else._

 _"Already checked. Didn't find any living things on that side,"_ said Chewie, causing Han to look up. _"But I did find this."_ He threw something in Han's direction, which he barely caught. 

"Shine the flashlight on me, will you, Princess?" He asked, absent-mindedly, as he turned the thing around. It seemed like a mini-Droid that could be shaped like a small missile, with claws to attach itself to Force knows where.

Leia was peering over him as well, observing. "Wait." She said, holding Han's hand to make him stop moving the Droid around. "Is that… An Imperial logo?" She asked, dreadfully, finger hovering on an engraving at the bot's side.

Narrowing his eyes, Han tried to look—and _kriff._ "This is a tracking Droid." He said, immediately throwing it to the ground like it was a radioactive substance.

"Shouldn't we—?" Leia asked, looking up at him. "Shouldn't we destroy it—?" 

"No, don't." Said Han, immediately. "If we destroy it, they'll know we figure them out, and they will attack." He said, taking a deep breath. "They shot this to us instead of making an ambush, so I think they're hoping us to lead them somewhere." He looked around. 

He could see Leia's face contorting slowly into fear. "Do you think—" she gulped. "Do you think they hope we'll lead them to Luke?"

The concept of them accidentally leading the Empire to their best friend, the boy with the biggest bounty in his head, was sickening for him as well. 

Han heavily sighed. "That's a fair guess, but we can't be sure." He said, still looking at the Droid. 

_"Leave it here."_ Replied Chewie, _"make 'em think that they still have us and we're just being idle."_ He turned to Han, then, grimly. _"We better—"_

_"Ah!"_

Han ducked just in time before the hordes of mynocks flying over them, shooting some of them in retaliation. He could hear Threepio screeching, "Go away, you ghastly beast!" From inside the Falcon. Leia, meanwhile, had already taken cover at the hatch, peering over their surroundings suspiciously. 

"Wait," Han said, thinking, _thinking—_

There were… too many large mynocks for his liking, without any organisms to sustain them by. 

He took another step, feeling the slime of the cave's bedding coating his boots. 

_Wait._

"Han?" 

He ignored Leia's call, instead opting to shoot the ground, hoping to any deity that would listen that his observation was wrong—

The ground shook—Chewie yelled and Leia screamed. The ship, thankfully, stayed stable, but he could faintly hear Threepio and SH-4 clanking to the ground, maybe stumbling over. 

Han felt anxiety, bitter and dry in his mouth. He was _right._

He gestured to Chewie to _run,_ before stumbling to the hatch, grabbing Leia's hand and pulling her in. They barely managed to reach the inside of the ship when there was another quake. 

There were faulty wires still needing work. Machineries still requiring modifications. But at that moment, all Han wanted was— "Chewie, make the preparations to get out of here!" 

_"Roger that."_ Chewie replied, already running to the cockpit. 

Leia, though, planted her feet and said indignantly, "Fett could still be out there, not to mention the damages on the ship! I don't think it's wise to—!" 

"No time to discuss this with the committee!" Han yelled back, running to the cockpit and assuming the captain seat. 

He could hear a pitched protest of "I am _not_ a committee!" And a loud _thunk!_ followed by a groan, before Leia came to the cockpit herself, her face flushed with fresh bouts of frustration. "Han, you can't go _anywhere_ with that asteroid field—"

"Oh, yes we can, Princess." Said Han, pushing the gearshift to its limit. "We're taking off." The Falcon sped up, flying directly to the only source of light available in that cave; the outside. "I see it," Han said, narrowing his eyes, "I see it…"

Leia took a sharp breath beside him. "The cave—" she said, "it's collapsing."

Han grimly replied. "There's no cave."

There weren't rocks. There were sets of sharp teeth, ready to grind them to dust.

They had entered a space-worm.

"We're not gonna make it!" Threepio wailed, trotting on the back with his panicky steps, as the teeth closed faster than the Falcon could, with it's faulty wires and halfway done machines. 

"Shut it, Goldenrod!" Han said, but he could feel the pessimism getting to him, because Threepio was _right,_ they weren't going to make it—

_"Aah!"_

There were so many noises in the cockpit Han had a trouble distinguishing which one was which, but at that moment he didn't care one bit about the screams, or Chewie's panicked roars; because right that second, suddenly the teeth stopped moving, the mouth pausing from closing itself, as if it was—held back by _something._ Like a strong pair of invisible hands was forcing it to _open._

Han didn't wonder about it too long; he hit the pedal and flew _out._

Behind them, even the space couldn't disguise the vibration of the Worm's roar.

"Oh shit." He said, exhaling. "Oh shit, that was—"

_"Mistress Leia!"_

There was a loud _thud_ , and Han turned, sharply, to see that Leia had been sprawled on the floor of the cockpit, eyes rolled back, with blood slightly trickling from her nose. Threepio and SH-4 was circling her, one Droid trilling worriedly and the other quickly tending her with a first aid kit. 

He felt his entire body running cold.

"Chewie, stabilize the ship. Head straight to Bespin." He said, absent-mindedly as he quickly crouched to her side. "Leia," he called out, picking her head up, shaky fingers caressing her sweaty forehead. "Hey, Leia?" 

Cold. She was so clammy and cold.

 _[Mistress Leia just collapsed,]_ SH-4 beeped worriedly, _[preliminary examinations shows extreme exhaustion and stress—]_

Han narrowed his eyes. _What?_

Leia's breath was so shallow. So, _so_ shallow. And she was so pale—sickly so, her skin only adding a stark contrast to the red blood trickling down her nose. But she was fine, just minutes ago she was _fine,_ so what—?

“Can stress and exhaustion even _cause_ bleeding?”

_[Well, Master Han, that is why I say extreme stress and exhaustion. It seemed that Mistress Leia had overworked herself to the point where she strained even her blood vessels, causing several internal bleeding…]_

“I—” Han clutched her tighter. “I don’t understand. She was just standing there behind us—”

_The teeth, refusing to clash. The mouth holding its closing up until the very last second, after the Falcon came out—_

_Leia, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you don't believe in space mumbo jumbo."_

Han’s eyes widened. 

He heard Luke talk about it, plenty of times, and sometimes the twins would display faces that indicated they were talking with their mind, and of course that one time with Leia's breakdown over the Shuura fruit, but never more than that. 

"Leia?"

Leia's breath was stuttering, singular. Like it was hard to grasp air for her lungs. 

Han felt his throat drying as he lifted her up. "Run her full diagnosis, SH-4." He said, absent-mindedly as he carried her to her room, mind going to a million things at once. 

_Did she just use the—The Force? To hold the space worm from munching them?_

* * *

"And station the patrols at—"

Vader's monotonous speech halted, stopped abruptly. His heart, despite being pumped by a machine, felt like it just—skipped several beats. 

_Pain. Unfiltered, unadulterated pain._

"Lord—" said one of the troopers, trying to call him back to them. "Lord Vader—?" 

But Vader raised a hand, the other one clenching and unclenching. 

_Pain, climbing up, and up, and up, up until it was borderline unbearable and crashed, shattered into little pieces before suddenly—gone._

He could feel his breath harshening, his heartbeat hammering. Because—

He couldn't feel _her._

She was there, just less than a minute ago she was _there—_ he swore to the twin suns of Tatooine she was _there_ just a _second ago—_

_"Where is Padme? Is she here? Is she alright?"_

_"...you killed her."_

He couldn't feel her—he reached and sought and screamed and cried, and he _still_ couldn't feel _Leia's_ force presence.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no—_

"Where is the Millennium Falcon?!" Vader yelled at his men, causing them to startle. His chest was tight, his artificial limbs buckling. "Where is that _ship?!"_

Piett had told him of their sudden appearance in the Anoat system. He had sent droid trackers to trail them, in addition to Fett—the hunter that had found them—mapping out their possible destination. He was supposed to know where it was, where she could possibly _be._

But he couldn't reach her—by _force,_ he couldn't _reach her_.

_Not her. Force, please not her—_

"Sir, uh—" one of the officers piped up, rather awkwardly. "It seems that uh, the Tracking Droid was—uh, _crushed,_ sir."

He reached out again. He still couldn't feel her. Tried again—she still wasn't _there_. 

Vader made his own way, swiping his men with the force to open a path straight to the officer. He peered over the man, looking at the camera he was currently viewing at. "What do you mean, _crushed?"_ He all but growled if one would judge from the way his vococorder sounded—but inside he was reeling. Fretting. His voice was thick and throaty and panicking. 

_Leia?_

Nothing. He had nothing.

What was left of his flesh and bones grew cold as ice when the officer stuttered, "we-well sir, it seemed like the ship entered into—some kind of cave? There were minimum lightings." He said, adjusting his glasses to see the monitors. "And I think the cave just collapsed over it."

Vader couldn't speak for a couple of minutes, his mind going back to the dream that haunted him only this morning, that always seemed to haunt him since that _day;_

 _Cold, cold, cold; Leia's body was freezing, her life teetering at the in-between. There were red marks on her neck—his handprints,_ his— _and when she coughed there was blood, leaking from the corner of her mouth._

_"Leia, sweetheart?" He was trembling, his voice shaky as he tried to shake her as gently as possible. "Leia, hey, I'm sorry—"_

_"D-ddy, 't hurts—" she choked, and more blood leaked. Her skin was bluish, pale and deathly. "Why d'ya do that—"_

_"I know, honey—i'm sor—my God, Leia, stay awake—!"_

_"Hurts so bad—" she croaked, no matter how much he tried to shush her, told her to save her strength. She was so pale, so fucking pale and Vader's hand was trembling as he swept the loose strands of her hair, the blood on her chin. "Why'd'ya let me die—"_

_He coddled her; swaddled her with his embrace, pulled his cape so it could warm her, but her skin was still so cold, like the frozen tundras of Hoth._

_When he spoke, he hated how impersonal the voice modulator made his voice sounds. What was supposed to be a tender soothing turned to be a robotic instruction—_

_"No Leia, I'm not—I won't—you won't, sweetheart—no, no, no, look at me? Leia, look at me."_

Vader's breath was stilted—short and singular as he asked, "by it do you mean—" he swallowed his bile when he mentally tried to reach her out again and she still wasn't _there_. "The Droid or the Ship?"

"Honestly sir—we don't know—it could be both, since we put the tracker Droid on the ship's body and all—"

_Leia's eyes rolled back, her body sagging, full of wounds and blood. No matter how much he shook her, called her name, swaddled her closer to him, she was unresponsive._

_Cold. Leia was so cold._

_"Ani, our baby—" there his Angel was again, crying behind him. "Ani, what have you done—"_

_He couldn't form words, his chest too painful to speak as he clutched Leia closer, impossibly closer to his respiratory machine, wanting nothing more than to rip it off open, if his freshly wounded chest could be the warmth that she needed—_

_"Ani, you said you'd protect them, love them—"_

_"Angel I'm trying—" he felt himself stuttering now, eyes glued to the girl before him; her white dress stained red. He whimpered when she continued to be still, praying to every God from every planet he had ever known to_ **_please, please wake her up—_ **

"But you're not sure, right?" Said Vader, and even now his vococorder couldn't hide the tremble in his voice. "The ship—could still be out there, right?"

_Leia?_

"The likelihood is very small, My Lord; the cave they entered practically _crushed_ our tracking droid to—well; dust."

Still no answer, still no _presence._

Vader wanted to throw up.

"Search them again." Vader croaked, his mind echoing one word only; _Leia, Leia, Leia—_ "They have to—be still out there." He forced himself to keep up with his respirator, his _sshh-sshh-sshh_ sound laboring. "Contact Fett. Ask him about her—their whereabouts." 

"But Sir, isn't it, um, better this way? The Millennium Falcon is, after all, one of our greatest nuisances—"

The knot in his insides snapped. Vader growled, and the man didn't finish his sentence— _couldn't,_ really; for now he was too busy clamoring the invisible grip to his throat. 

"Lo—Lord Vader, _Please—"_

"You are to _search_ for them until they are _found,_ do you understand me?" He said, voice dangerously low and laced with a fresh bout of anger, his grip on the officer tightening. "I will _not_ accept any alternatives." 

_She must still be out there. She was just hiding, maybe snuffed out, shielded for a bit, but she was out there—he was sure of it, so sure of it—_

_Leia?_

Still nothing.

_She can't be—she has to—_

He released the officer in his grip, the pains in his chest spreading to his stomach, to his mechanical limbs. Vader could hear the officer gasping for breath, barely surviving—but in that moment he couldn't care less.

_My daughter._

_Where is my daughter?_

"Calling—" another officer, a woman, piped up shakily, hands on the comms. "Calling Boba Fett, now, Sir—"

It wasn't long until Fett's face popped up, his masked face greeting Vader. _"Lord Vader."_ He acknowledged, _"What honors this—"_

"The Falcon." Vader's query was straight to the point, with a slight tinge of desperation, seeping out despite his attempts to hide them. "Where are they, Fett?"

Boba Fett’s voice was robotic, void— _desensitized,_ like the Falcon was useless, its occupant _useless—_ _"Most probably crushed in-between meteorite rains."_ He said, _"It might be stealthy, Lord Vader; but the ship was not invincible, especially to meteorite storms like this."_

Vader swore he would have fallen into a panic-induced-heart-attack if not for the machineries surrounding him. _Not her, force, not her—_

 _"This system has little visitors for a reason."_ Fett continued. _"Add to the fact that they’re either unable or unwilling to use their hyperdrive; it is more than likely for them to wither because their fuel runs out, or some bouts of asteroid showers. Either way, they're as good as gone."_

Ice. His entire body felt like it was being submerged to _ice_ then kept there to endure.

_"They're as good as gone."_

_Leia, Please._

Still nothing.

This level of pain—even his maintenance and tune-ups weren't as painful as this one. Even the sith lightning he suffered from the Emperor's anger wasn't as painful as this one. Even being burned by the Mustafar lava wasn't as painful as this one. No—this pain was too all-consuming, suffocating and _sharp_ , attacking him from every single direction. 

Whatever it was he was feeling—it felt like more than enough to tear his rigid body to two. 

_"Ani, come back! You're breaking my heart!"_

No, no, _no, no,_ **_no, no—_ **

_"It seems that in your anger… You killed her."_

Not her, Force, he'd do _anything,_ sell his soul to _anyone_ if it meant that it wasn't _her—_

Fett’s voice broke his reverie, as monotonous and emotionless as always. _"I understand that the Falcon is within the Empire’s top wanted list, but perhaps it is better for me to realign to my original mission—"_

"No!" Vader raged, his emotions causing the room to shake. Even Fett seemed to be startled, instinctively backing off from the screen. "Stay _there_ . Find _them."_ He said, "forget the Boy, Fett; your new prize is to _find them_ , and you report to _me,_ not the Admiral. Are we _clear?"_

The bounty hunter paused, and Vader had a feeling that he was viewing Vader intently, as if weighing his options, his chances. _"...very well."_ he said, and there was something in his voice that unsettled Vader, but—

_Later._

When Fett cut the call, Vader turned, abruptly, storming away from the room, the officers, the role he had to fill. He could not think; could not function properly without—

_Leia?_

Still fucking _nothing._

Behind him, there were startled gasps and yelps from his soldier as they stumbled and fell, and a rather loud cracking sound. There would have to be explanations later, and reparations for the room he just unwittingly destroyed, the soldiers he had just injured, but Vader didn't _care._

None of that—not the room, the soldiers, the job he was supposed to be—mattered, right then; because his daughter was _gone_ and he couldn't _reach_ her. 

The very second he was at the privacy of his own hyperbaric chambers, Vader took off his helmet and gasped, despite the air forcefully shoved into his lungs by the machineries. He fell to his knees, his scarred face in his palms. 

The _thump-a-thump-a-thump_ of his hammering heart was so _loud,_ echoing through the walls of his chamber. He could feel his hands trembling, his legs shaking. Could feel his breath coming in and out short, could feel his stomach twisting and knotting with anxiety. 

_[Lord Vader, it appears that you have put quite a stress on your respiratory system. A tune-up might be necessary—]_

He crushed the Med-Droid without much of a thought, because a tune-up would mean more time, more delay when his focus should only be finding her. The Bot crumpled pathetically on the floor, falling with smokes coming out from its body. 

He didn't care.

"Leia?" He called out, verbally, closing his eyes and trying to fully focus on trying to locate her. His heart was growing even more painful, so he took a deep breath— _one, two, three, four—_ and tried again, calling the Light and fully banishing the Dark with all his might, this time, shifts and Siths and destinies be _damned._

_"Leia?"_

There was another Light-force user, screaming the same name, looking for the same person as him, but in that second Vader didn't care, wouldn't spare a second thought to _'who'—_

Because whoever it was—wasn't his daughter.

He could feel his chest contorting, _collapsing._ The alarms around his suit were starting to sound, and Vader dimly could recognize the signs of a heart attack. He gasped—growled; not here, not _now,_ not when he still couldn't _feel_ his daughter.

_"Lei—"_

The room was growing darker around him as he slowly fell to the floor, his eyes drooping and his chest so, _so_ painful as he croaked _"Leia,"_ stuttered breaths.

_("Siths don't love.")_

When he opened his eyes, Vader found himself in his force-space; the Nubian Condominium in the Senate housing complex. 

His past house with Padme, which could only mean one thing; he passed out. 

Vader was—confused. And angered. And fearful. Because he didn't want to be in this place, he didn't want to be _anywhere_ but her beach, the beach in her _mind_ , because if there was a beach it meant there was _her,_ still alive and kicking and _breathing_.

Vader would give his own set of burned, mechanical lungs if it meant she'd be alive.

Still no Leia around, he gulped and tried again. Force-planes were supposed to be for meditation, like a place of solace for oneself to recoup, rethink, reform with the force.

Instead he reached out again, the Light still at the edge of his fingertips. "Leia?" He said, and when he spoke here his voice wasn't as menacing, wasn't as harsh or cruel. When he spoke here he used _his_ voice.

And his voice was shattered, croaked. Broken in all the places and unmendable until he could confirm her presence. 

_Come on sweetheart, come on, I know you're out there; don't go—_

Something _bright_ touched his fingertips, powerful and familiar but _tempered,_ distorted, twisted and somewhat _distraught_ in all the wrong places—

"—Han? Luke?"

Vader stopped, his movement making a sudden sound. He turned his head abruptly to the source of the voice, who seemed alarmed. "Who's out there?" The voice tried again, tentatively—almost fearfully. "Luke, is that you?" 

There was a figure, at the end of the room, obscured by the shadows. "Winnie?" It was a female voice, seeking out for someone. "Luke?"

He held his breath. He knew that voice.

"Leia?"

When she turned, abruptly, surprise coloring her face at someone calling out— _oh._

There she _was._

His Princess, _his._

The Princess stopped dead on her stance, looking at Vader oddly, as if assuming he was someone else at first before realizing that she was wrong. "You're not _Luke,"_ she said, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "I—don't understand. Where—"

Vader snapped from his stance and didn't really want to hear the rest of what she had to say. Instead he took long strides to her direction, his heart hammering in relief when his hands could finally reach her. 

"Oh Force," he said, pulling her to his embrace, one hand on her back and the other one to her head, his hug to her tight and trembling. It felt like everything just realigned back to their places in the universe, when she was in his arms. "Oh thank _Force."_

Unlike their encounters in the past, where there always seemed to be a barrier between them, standing so firm separating him and her despite how close they were—now that barrier was gone, and he could reach her, could feel her soft hair under the palm of his hand, could feel her warmth within his embrace. 

_Leia._ His daughter was safe—she was in his arms, and she was _alive._

For a split second, he thought that this was part of his hallucination—that he'd gone too mad and made Leia with his own mind. But then the Princess pushed him away—almost shoving but not quite, looking at him oddly. "You're—" she said, not quite finishing her sentence. Instead she took a step back, hesitantly, her stare at him wary and cautious.

Vader felt— _hurt,_ at her rejection, and for a split second he considered on calling the Dark again, bending her with it. But then the thought of her, fearing him the last time he had lashed out, immediately banished away the thought. 

He didn't want her to fear him. He was done invoking fear from her. He wanted her to feel _safe._

So Vader took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I will not hurt you," he said, feeling his anger draining out from him. "Please; I just want to _see_ you." 

Leia opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again before finally pressing her lips tight, forming a straight line. She shook her head, then, and Vader could see that she was afraid, almost white as sheet as she took a step back. 

“Last time we met, you made my own beach turn against me.”She said, her voice slightly shaky even as she looked at him dead in the eye. “Forgive me for taking your words with a grain of salt.”

He opened his mouth, trying to defend himself, but then he realized that it was moot; not only because her words were true, but also because he really didn't want to spend the rest of their encounter fighting.

Not when he almost lost her.

So instead he simply said, "I'm so sorry," and _meant_ it, genuinity lacing his words, for the things she accused him of and _more_. "I was—I was an idiot." He took a deep breath, "I will not—do that again." He told her, solemnly.

Leia—his _daughter, his—_ looked at him in surprise, as if she didn't expect an apology and a promise. "...okay." she said, warily, "I don't really believe you, but— _okay."_ She took a deep breath, looking around. 

Vader shoved away the pain and anger again. There would be time to deal with that later, but not right now; not with her around. "How are you?" He asked, with just a tinge of desperation. 

Leia hesitated, like she wasn't quite _sure,_ and something inside Vader ran cold when she said. "I don't—know." She looked at the veranda, then at the ceiling. "Last I remembered I was—chased by a bounty hunter into this _worm,_ and—" she sucked a deep breath, and Vader could almost feel the fear and pain, so acutely familiar to the one in his briefings mere moments ago, and aboard the Death Star, three years ago. "I don't even know—how I got here." 

"You're safe here." Vader immediately promised, his tone firm and final. He wouldn't let anything, anyone—not even Sidious—enter his mind and find her. He would rather get struck by sith lightning, or stabbed by a lightsaber, than have anyone spot her here. "I will give my life to guarantee _that."_

Leia looked at him oddly, like he just spoke of something… befuddling. "Is everything always have to be so, uh," she paused, trying to find the right word, _"dramatic_ with you?"

Vader was—taken aback. He wasn't used to being called out to his face about, well—anything. The only people who used to do it were—

_"Ani," Gasped Padme as she clawed for his ghost hands to get off her throat—_

_"My boy," croaked Kenobi as he faded away from existence, his body withering to non-existence—_

"I was told that I have a flair for that, yes." Vader replied stiffly, because he could do with serious talks and fights—but frankly light banters scared him. He hadn't done it with _anyone_ in _decades,_ and with his daughter, no less? 

He could feel his stomach churning nervously, afraid that he could ruin the moment.

"Hmph." She said, her brown eyes twinkling as she looked at him with a faux-dirty look. "Now I know where he got 'em from." 

Vader narrowed his eyes. _He?_

"Though to be fair, I've been told that I have a way with waxing insults as well," she said, lightly. "What can I say? Anger fuels creativity—especially when the person is just a plain asshole." She shrugged and gave Vader a mischievous gaze.

In that moment, Vader could exactly catalogue the Padme and himself in _her;_ from her gesture to her smile to her voice to her eyes to the way she talked—

_“—perfect mix—you n’ Padme.”_

"Of course," Vader croaked, half-affirming her words but mostly affirming his own thoughts; for this was the first time he had truly, genuinely noticed the parts that they contributed each to make _her._

_His daughter, his._

_He was supposed to be raising her, nurturing her, loving her—_

They stood there, Vader watching her as she watched around, taking in the sofa, the furniture. "I've never even been to this place before." She said, idly. 

A twist entrapped Vader's chest, reminding him of the lost chances he had known all too well. "I know." He said; _you should have,_ he thought. "This was my home," he spoke; _it's supposed to be yours, too._

Leia hummed, pausing as she took it all in. "It's lovely." She remarked, and something bloomed inside Vader's chest quietly, something sad _and somber._

"My wife decorated it." He said; _your mother,_ he thought. "She had an impeccable taste." He added; _you got that from her,_ he yearned to tell her.

Her eyes darted around, looking for more things to spot, to see, to observe, and she found Threepio at the side of the room, silent; more a decorative piece of his memory than anything else. 

"That's my protocol Droid!" She said, surprised and somewhat childlike, and Vader's heart panged at the rare display of her innocent curiosity. 

Vader swallowed the thickness in his throat, "I made him." He told her, approaching so that they would be closer in distance. He was hovering over her, looking at the golden-plated bot. "He used to be mine." 

Leia paused, seemingly stunned. She turned at him, then, like he just gave her a treasured piece of information, a link she didn't know she needed before. "Threepio raised me." She said, her eyes growing wide. "He's like my nanny." 

Something twanged in his chest then, like a spark of jealousy, for even his _Droid_ had gotten to know his daughter more than he ever did. "Really?" He asked, half-dry and half-throaty, looking at Threepio's empty eyes intently.

"Yeah." Leia said, smiling fondly at nothing in particular. "He said I'm the greatest cause for his headache, but I know deep down he likes me." She chuckled.

"Of course he likes you." Said Vader, instinctively, as he put a hand to her shoulder, pulling her closer. "There's nothing not to like." 

Leia snorted, like he had said something funny—and untrue. "There's plenty." She rebutted, wittily. "I literally have a bounty on my head, courtesy of the Empire because I'm, well, _me."_ She said, lightly, like this was a joke to her, her own life nothing more than a fleeting humor. "But I guess that's just a thing with my family; wanted fugitives and rebel princesses. Our biggest talent is probably annoying the hell out of the Emperor." She giggled, now, "no wonder he wants us dead."

Vader's body grew cold, the lightness in her tone, the idle commentary tone she had used somehow a harsher strike to his conscience; harsher than his Master's force lightnings. 

Had she always considered her own life a joke, nothing more than an expendable soul for the cause she was fighting for? A worthless little thing compared to the war raging around her? 

Vader was suddenly very angry at Bail Organa. Just _what_ had the viceroy taught his daughter in regards of valuing her own _life?_

"They won't find you." He said, solemnly. 

Leia snorted, her voice skeptical. "You seem so sure of yourself."

"Oh I am." Said Vader, darkly. "There is not a thing in the universe that I will not do to keep you safe." 

_He failed her mother. He would not fail her._

And he could hear her, taking a sharp breath, feeling her tense up under his grip. She shook him gently, quickly, and tried to feign nonchalance by walking around, seeing things around her once more. But Vader could see the slight glimmer at the corner of her lid, the glassy look on her widened brown eyes. 

Leia's attention was then stolen, by the box of toys and the crib at the side of the living room. 

This was the state of the apartment before he left for the last time; a brimming preparation for their bundle of joy; _theirs,_ his and Padme's _._

_Her._

There was something strange in her voice when she asked, "you have a baby?" 

_And then everything happened and they took you, they hid you away from me and I never got the chance to—_

Vader looked at her, yearning consuming his voice as he answered, quietly. "I _almost."_

_I could have raised you, nurtured you, loved you; and they took that chance from me, from you, from us—_

Leia paused, looking at him fully now, like she was trying to assess something, judge something, decide something. 

"You know, I read it somewhere that the old Jedi Order didn't allow their members to get married or have a family." She commented, picking up a small toy soldier dressed as a Jedi from the box. 

He remembered that one. Padme was the one who bought it, insisting that their _son_ should be able to play with a figure that bore resemblance to his father. He had nodded along, stating that their _daughter_ would love playing war-General, imitating her father.

Now she was 22, a real General in a war of his own making, and all he wanted to do was turn back time and absorb her, protect her from all the things that hurt her. 

_"Attachments are forbidden, Anakin," he could hear his master tiredly told him when he was caught ogling too long at Padme's direction._

"Yes." He said, his voice hoarse, strangled. "They did."

Leia hummed, examining the toy. He had a feeling that she was doing that so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Was that why you gave us away?" 

Vader stopped the world around him halted, pausing. There was only Leia and the toy soldier in her hand, Leia and her questions. 

"I mean, not that I ever minded, being an adopted child. Papa and Mama were—amazing and kind, and I have a little sister, too. It was a nice childhood, and I truly do love them, really—"

He never told her directly, far too afraid of even saying it out loud to only lose her again, but—

_(Us?)_

"I didn't give you away." He cut her ramblings, walking closer to her. "Not by choice. _Never_ by choice." He swallowed, "I want you so much, so _much—"_

_“He?” His past self—the weaker link—echoed mildly. “I thought you’d ordered your medical droid not to spoil the surprise.”_

_“Oh, I didn’t get this from the Emdee. It’s my…” His Angel's smile went softly sly. “…motherly intuition.”_

_He felt a sudden pulse against his palm and laughed. “Motherly intuition, huh? With a kick that hard? Definitely a girl.”_

"If I had known of—" his voice was strained, and now without the anger as a barrier of all his emotions, he just felt a tired longing, yearning for _her._ "I would have done _anything,"_ he swore, "to keep you _safe,"_ he paused, "with me."

Leia paused, the finger fiddling the toy soldier going still as she ingested the words. "...It's been a while since someone said they wanted me because of _me."_ She said, her voice small and somewhat _insecure._ "Kind of feel nice, so."

Sith Lords weren't supposed to get their hearts broken, but Vader's heart _shattered._

Leia looked so _sad,_ then, and Vader wondered; wondered what had happened _since_ that made her lose the fiery glint in her eyes when he first met her. Was it the brunt of the war, the fighting, the destruction? Or the aftermath of loss, the loneliness, the painful survivor's guilt? 

_Either way, he probably_ — _no, most definitely_ — _have something to do about it._

Pressing his lips tight to keep his own emotions at bay, he took two, three long strides to her direction, dropping his knees and pulling her closer to him. She was instinctively tense, at first, but she didn't pull away this time, instead she let herself melt before his embrace slowly, little by little.

It felt simultaneously wonderful and _scary,_ to be trusted like this by his own daughter. For all the things he inflicted on her _before_ was nothing short but _pain._ But he was _trying,_ on Force he truly was, and he would do anything, sell his soul to _anyone_ if it meant that she would be relaxed and content and _safe._

He wanted to say something, _anything,_ but words were always his Angel's skills, not his. So instead he tried to let the force do the talking, sending her all the light he could muster—which wasn't a lot, not without him pushing his limits and straining himself due to the maddening echoes of _which side are you at, boy?—_ so that she would feel calmed and soothed. 

_I love you,_ he said through the force, _I love you I love you I love you,_ over and over again, like a broken, desperate holorecorder. 

She snuggled closer to him anyway. She was the perfect fit for his hug, and he counted all the breaths she took, one until one hundred, so long until he forgot that he didn't have to. They stayed like that, with Leia leaning onto him and Vader anchoring her. 

He wanted to freeze that moment forever and live inside it until time faded to irrelevance.

"You give really nice hugs," he heard her mumble to his chest, and he felt something inside him flutter. He kissed the crown of her hair softly. 

"Thank you," he said, feeling like he could burst from this much happiness, this much _joy._ "Your mother—she liked it too." 

_"I like how you're enveloping me," Padme had giggled, as she snuggled closer to him and snuck a kiss to the underside of his chin. "It feels like you'll protect me from everything."_

_But he couldn't protect her from himself._

_And now he kept failing on protecting his daughter from the very same thing._

Leia's breath hitched, and Vader could feel her growing eerily still. "No one ever told me of her name." She said, softly, almost inaudible Vader nearly missed it.

Vader froze. Had those rebels—Mothma and Ackbar and Dodonna and on _Force_ Bail Organa—had neither of them ever spoke to her of—? 

"Padme." He croaked, caressing her hair. "Her name was—Padme." He gulped, "Padme Amidala."

_A queen, a senator, a leader, a hope for the people, but beyond that; a mischievous soul, a gentle wife, an adventurous lover, an excited mother-to-be—_

_And he took that all away from her, leaving Leia with nothing but a face to get her by—_

"Wait, Padme Amidala?" Said Leia, pulling away slightly to look at his face in surprise. "As in, the Senate's youngest senator? Nubian Queen Pooja Naberrie's Aunt?" She was incredulous and it was almost comical if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "She was my role model! I wrote about her for my diplomatic and consular class assignment!" 

She sounded so excited and purely joyful, and Vader felt like his heart could burst from the mix of happiness and sadness swirling inside him. _She should have known her better, should have been raised by her, loved by her—_

"Papa _knew_ her," Leia frowned, then. Vader tried not to care too much for the stinging pang in his chest as Leia referred to another man as her _papa._ "I can't believe he didn't tell me. And all the pictures of her are—ugh." She scrunched up her nose in displeasure. "Why is she always wearing heavy make-up? No one can recognize her face with that paper-white foundation!" 

"That was from her queenhood days." Vader explained, gently. "She was a Queen when she was—"

"Fourteen, I know." Leia continued, her eyes gleaming with glee with the new meaning of her knowledge. "She was very cool; youngest politician at her time." She sighed, wistfully, before turning to Vader, hesitantly. "How did you—?" She paused, then. "How did you meet her?" 

Vader paused, his mind gearing to _remember._ It was—painful, but he would do it for _her._ "I was nine. She was fourteen." He spoke, wistfully. "I was a slave in this… backhanded planet at the outer-rim, and she was—" he felt his chest inflating with so much love and regret, "when I first met her, I thought she was an Angel." 

_Angel, he had always called her since._

_She had always been too ethereal for him, like a dream that was too good to be true. Maybe that was why it ended badly. Maybe that was why—_

"You seem to have loved her." She said, softly, shaking Vader out of his reverie. 

Vader swallowed the brimming grief, trying to shove it down his throat as he replied, somberly, "I did." He paused, then, "I do." 

"Anakin and Padme," she said, testing the name of her parents out loud; his name—his _old, weak_ name—out loud. 

He didn't know how she had found out—where or from whom. But the way she had said it—made him feel something. Like a dead plant in his chest restarting, trying to regain _life._

 _Anakin,_ spoken with her small, tentative voice, and something inside him _cracked,_ making a way for something to _bloom._

Trying to hold his warring emotions at bay, he turned to the display above bedpost, where there was a large picture of him and Padme, looking at each other lovingly at their wedding day, hanging proudly on the wall. In their real apartment, the picture was kept in a holocontainer at all times, hidden from the prying eyes of the unwanted. It was only in this place, the apartment he made up with his mind, that the picture had the luxury to be seen.

"That's her." Leia's voice was small, and tentative. It was a statement, not a question; but it was posted doubtfully, as if she was afraid that she would be wrong. 

"Yes." He affirmed, anyway, cradling her impossibly closer, gazing at her gaze at his younger self, forever frozen in his memory. "You look just like her." He said, eyelash fluttering as he glanced at his daughter; all brown locks and honey eyes and willpower that could conquer Coruscant. 

_Just like her._

Leia sighed, shaking her head. "Do you think—?" She stopped, wondering, unaware of his personal struggles and epiphanies. "Do you think she would have loved me?"

 _Oh, Sweetheart._ "Of course," he croaked, giving Leia a tighter hug. "She was so excited to meet you." He said; _We both were,_ he thought.

Leia turned to the picture again. "She looks happy there." She said, somberly. Leia made a sticky sound, then; blinking several times. He realized that it was to erase the tears. "I wish I have—" she paused, "I wish I have a picture of her face when she looks like that. Something—" she paused, trying to regain composure, "something to brighten up the image of the sad lady in my head." She looked up to him. "Something to look to, when her smile slips."

Breaking her heart was the thing he least wanted to do, and yet—he had to do it because he had no choice. For the force could do so many things, but it couldn't physically materialize the image of those already _destroyed._ "Most senatorial members before the Empire were… erased." He said, carefully, dreadfully.

_Erased._

_From the history books, the memorials, the mandatory lessons._

_His Master's orders. To make people forget—just like they had forgotten of the Jedi, of the Force._

_The only ones allowed by the Emperor were in his possessions, and he had regretted it now, to keep Padme selfishly for himself and unknowingly deprived his own daughter the chance, the possibility to know her—_

Leia paused, pressing her lips tight. There were tears at the brink of her eyes, but she held it, refusing to let it fall. She nodded, chuckling tightly. "I know." She said, "it was… foolish of me." she said, her voice was grim and bitter when she spoke. "To hope for anything remotely good from that wrinkly tyrannical _bitch_ of an Emperor." She gulped down her emotions before it could come out, her last word cracking. 

He knew that she was trying to lighten up the situation, trying to hide her grief with crude words and insults, so He pulled her back to his embrace, a new form of anger flinging his system. It was directed to the Emperor, this time; pure and raw and no longer filtered.

Because beyond everything else, he had _made his daughter cry._

He thought about the deal with the Banking Clan he just struck several days ago. It would be any _moment now—_

 _He could murder him, assassinate him and make Leia Empress—_

"Can I ask you something?" 

He blinked, banishing the thought away, placing his chin to her head. "Anything," he muttered, softly. Always soft, when it comes to her. 

Leia took a deep breath. "I know that the Jedi Purge happened and all, but you keep saying—" she paused, warily. "Are you still here? Alive, I mean?" 

"Yes," he said, without hesitation; he hadn't been alive in a very long time, but for her he would stay breathing, existing—

"Then where were you?" 

He froze. The universe paused, waiting. There was only Leia in his embrace. Leia and her questions. 

He could hear all the implications, the thinks she left unsaid; _why did you never seek for me, why didn't you come to me in person, why have you never showed up—_

A thousand thoughts and emotions flashed in his mind, consummating his thoughts. 

_Does he tell her the truth?_

"I—"

But then there was a loud noise, strong winds dominating their surroundings, as if barring him from saying anything. Leia, meanwhile, distanced herself away from him, head turned up, as if she heard something, her question forgotten.

He heard something then, as well; a murky scream of her name, echoing around the Force. Leia stood up from his embrace, her forehead creasing as she called out, "Luke?"

_"... Leia!"_

"Leia?" He stood up as well, following her from behind as she walked to the veranda. She was getting murkier from his sight, like the barrier that was gone before now re-erected, preventing him from reaching her. Leia herself seemed to not have realized the distance put between them, almost at trance as she repeated the name she'd been calling out for several times now; _Luke._ "Who's—?"

But he blinked, and she was gone. 

_Gone._

"Leia?" He blinked, and she wasn't there. "Leia?!" He chased to the veranda, and she had vanished. 

He felt his heart hammering, his hands trembling. _Not again, not again, I just got her, she can't be gone already—_

_"Lei—"_

He woke up with a gasp.

_[Ah, Lord Vader, you are finally—]_

Whatever the man—Droid? He wasn't sure, wasn't in the mood to find out—wanted to say was cut out by the force under his command, swiping him away to the corner of the room rather forcefully. He could feel that none of his mechanical limbs were attached to him, but that didn't matter; the force was always another limb for him, after all. 

_Leia?_

She was there, now; a presence he was so familiar with, and he could have exhaled in relief if her force signature wasn't so _weak_ and _fading._

He turned to his left, where a mousy-looking man took cautious steps aback, looking at him fearfully. "You had a heart attack sir." The mouse man said, “Your suit was incapable of handling the stress you put to your heart, so it automatically stopped functioning.” He stuttered, “We were almost positive that you wouldn’t wake—” 

“How long was I—” he gruffed out, his voice still croaky and dry and painful but it was _there._ "How long was I _out?"_

"About two hours, Lord Vader, but it seems that—"

"Fett." He said again, and this time, without the modulator, the physician could perhaps detect the slight twinge of mad desperation beneath his voice. "Has Boba Fett—called yet?"

The mousy man hesitated. "I… do not know, sir." He said, truthfully. "I am just… a physician." He backed off, trying to take cover for himself as if preparing for his next explosive bouts of anger.

He himself was already straining on a thin line, half losing his mind because he _lost her again,_ on Force why did he keep _losing her—_

"Lord Vader—"

 _"Anakin and Padme."_ Leia's voice haunted his head, quiet and wistful and so _endearing,_ like he was something _treasured_ ; 

_Anakin, Anakin, Anakin—_

"Don't—" he gruffly cut him, "call me that."

The physician paused, confused. "Call you—what, Sir?" 

He paused, the name _Vader_ and _Anakin_ clutching his thoughts, battling for dominance, for claimant of his broken vessel, for the title of Leia's father.

For _him._

He chose not to answer. "I do not have my limbs attached yet." He said instead, his voice deceptively cold and detached. "So you would have to assist me for this one." 

The physician nodded, and did exactly what he was told to do, too afraid of even asking questions. It wasn't long before Piett's voice piped up from the commlink. 

_"Lord—"_

"Admiral Piett." He gritted his teeth, cutting the Admiral off before he could get a chance to fully say his Sith name. "Has Fett contacted yet?" 

_"Not yet, Sir. It seems that we have lost them."_ Said Piett, _"though according to the mappings that Mr. Fett had given us, they might be heading to one of the planets near the center of the system."_ He explained. _"There are about 4 occupied planets on the system, sir. Do you think we should—?"_

He clicked his tongue, deciding. "Ready my ship." He said, ignoring the pains in his chest, and paying attention much more to the pain around him, in the force, numbed but _there._ "We are going to visit the Anoat system."

_Leia._

"But Sir—!" The physician protested. "Your body, it's still not strong enough to—"

"If you know what's good for you boy, then you will be quiet." He hissed, throwing him a sharp glare, causing the man to shut up. "This body had seen worse than a simple heart attack. It will _endure._ "

_Even if it wouldn't, he would make it._

_He will not let the limits of his body prevent him from reaching her._

He caught an image of himself, then, at the examination mirror near the slab he was being laid to. His scarred face—ugly and horrendous—greeted him as usual. But something… something made him pause. 

He narrowed his eyebrows, taking a double look, before his gaze widened.

For the first time in perhaps twenty two years… the blue in his eyes were visible once more; battling dominance with the dancing golden flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i may have made fictitious stuff about the force, and what about it? Anyway, feedbacks are highly appreciated !!!


	6. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plot within the Empire forced one of its Admiral to make an irreversible choice regarding his loyalty, and a former soldier to save the legacies of his General. Meanwhile, an Ancient Master contemplated how his past faults had impacted the universe, and decided differently this time.

He found Klinton recounting tales at the cantina, one leg propped up at the table while his upper body leaned against the plastic recliner, his beer-holding hand flailing slightly, causing some of his drink to spill. 

When the spy spotted him, his face lit up in smugness. "Piett, hey!" He waved, before making a face when more liquid spilled, trickling down the floor. "Look at the newly promoted Governor! Looking fresh, Piett!" He grinned, "bet you're here because you want to—"

"Klinton," Piett took long strides to the man's direction, his face glowering at him. "My office. _Now."_

The spy's smile faltered, but Piett really couldn't care _less._ He tugged Klinton's hand, much firmer than he intended to and certainly very embarrassing for the man, considering the forceful gesture was on full display for the whole mess to see.

"Get off me." Grunted Klinton, shrugging him off with a sharp gesture. Piett glared at him in return, beckoning to come follow him with little room to argue. Begrudgingly, the man stood up, trailing Piett as he stormed away from the mess, from the prying gaze of the people around them. 

Their walk to Piett’s office was tense, with Piett glancing at Klinton every once in a while, wary that he would— _what would he do?_

His insides twitched and turned, and he was almost relieved to see the front of his office door, inputting his code and let it slide open. He walked behind his desk, hoping that the physical barrier would be enough to contain his anger.

Before him, Klinton had the nerve to grumble. “Some warm _Welcome Back_ would be nice.” he said, rubbing his side. “Honestly Piett, you’re being such a fucking _prick_ to someone who had—” 

Piett gritted his teeth. “You didn’t call me at _all.”_ He said, his tone deep and carefully controlled. “I gave you an instruction to notify me about _anything_ and you did not _do so.”_

Klinton snorted, still seemingly nonchalant at the whole situation, mindless of its seriousness. “Geez, way to sound like a jealous girlfriend, Piett—” 

“I am your _superior officer!”_ Piett blew up, his voice raised and his eyes narrowed sharply. “We are no longer bunkmates, Klinton! You work under _my orders,_ orders of which you disrespected!” He said, pointing a finger at the man in a warning. “I haven’t even gotten the reports of your return—you know where I found out? The fucking _promotional documents!”_

“So you should have some _respect!”_ Klinton yelled back, his face red with anger, “at the person who _got_ you a promotion! All of the Imperial Center under your fucking command, and because of who, Piett?!” He leaned to Piett, eyes widening as he pointed to his own boasting chest. “Do you know how hard I worked down there, in that Force-forsaken planet—”

Piett laughed, hollow and aggressive, “You see, that’s just it; I _don’t.”_ He said, staring down at Klinton challengingly. “There are no detailed reports, no intels you’ve given me—” 

“If you’d bothered to check the specifics of your promotional documents, you’ll find my fucking report—” 

The Governor raised a bundle of papers from his table, shaking it slightly for Klinton to see. “You mean _this,_ Klinton?” He slammed the document, creating a loud banging sound from the way the bundle had slapped the glass-surfaced table. “This means _shit_ to me; I mean look at it—” He started opening the files, pointing at the blocked sections, censored paragraphs, and the obstructed images attached. “There’s a bunch of _these_ all over the pages—this isn’t supposed to tell me _shit.”_ He said, both his hands holding the edge of the table as he leaned to Klinton’s direction, giving him a prying glare. “So tell me, Klinton, who are you really reporting to? Because I didn’t remember authorizing a switch for your Commander, nor did I remember receiving any intel, and yet suddenly this shit—” his middle finger jabbed at the cover of the paper, “told me that you’ve finished your mission with exemplary _records.”_

Klinton’s face was no longer annoyed and pissed, now—now it was tight, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyelids fluttered, fighting against Piett’s glare. “Stop asking questions now, while you still can _,_ Piett.” He said, voice laced with warnings. 

There was something in his voice that grated Piett. Something that set all the alarms on his senses. “You’re my subordinate.” He said, instead, tilting his chin high. “I will question you as I see _fit.”_

“I’m warning you, man.” Klinton said, his voice dropping low. “You should take your promotion, your new power, and turn the other way.” He spoke, his eyes sharply challenging him. 

Piett gave Klinton a look, and for a split second he contemplated, feeling hesitation seeping into his bones. His senses were tingling, telling him to tread carefully these next few minutes of their conversation, and suddenly he was reminded of just how _brutal_ the Empire were, to those who weren’t supposed to _be_ within their control.

He thought of his daughters. Of his late wife, her planet blown up due to a Princess’ defiance. 

For a split second, he contemplated on doing just what Klinton had suggested of him. Maybe whatever he found on Tatooine was worth ignoring—worth overlooking. He did have a brand new position to fill and a region to command, now, and isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that what every Imperial officer had ever wanted?

But then he turned, and his eyes caught the sight of the young boy—Red Five—the center of this mission. He saw the blonde hair, the dimple chin, the bright blue eyes. 

He thought of Lord Vader, still heaving even as he boarded the _Executor,_ taking the Fist with him to the Anoat System—ignoring the pleas of his Med-Droids. Thought of the mess his outbursts had left behind upon hearing that the tracker and the hunter had lost the Falcon. 

He thought of his assumption when he received the first report from Klinton, the one he dismissed as wishful thinking, overreaching. He tried to bury it deep, not let it cloud his judgement, but—

The way this mission had carried, the way Klinton had warned him, the censored documents—

“You will tell me who you report to,” Said Piett, his voice dropping dangerously, one hand geared to his holster subtly. “And you _will_ tell me the outcome of your mission.” 

Klinton straightened himself, looking at Piett with an exasperated sneer. “You really do not want to know.”

“Why is that?” 

Klinton bristled, desperation now covering his face. “Fuck, Piett, can’t you go with me on this one?! It’s just a fucking mission!” 

“A mission on finding the identity of the Empire’s biggest _terrorist,_ Klinton. Lord Vader _himself_ instructed this—” 

Klinton threw his hand, laughing hollowly. “There you go again with being Vader’s lapdog!” he exclaimed, snidely, “Look, I know that the murderous cyborg was scary, but this is more dangerous than him—” 

He paused, pressing his lips tight with wide eyes. Piett realized, perhaps almost as quick as Klinton had, that the man had said something he should not have.

“What do you mean?” Piett pressed on, suspiciously.

Klinton shook his head, now taking a step back. “You need to be quiet, Piett.” He said, weakly. “Think of your _girls.”_

Piett’s blood ran _cold._ “What do you _mean?”_

“I was just following orders from _them!”_ And now Klinton was _screaming,_ his voice almost pleading if it wasn’t so _aggressive._ The man took a deep breath. Then two. “And if you know what’s good for you, then you should _too!”_

There was a slight hint of panic in his voice, a slight unhingedness that Piett was completely unprepared for. 

Frustrated, Piett raised his voice. “And who is _them?”_

_The Rebels? The guerillas? The separatists?_

A dramatic pause, then— “I’m sorry, man.” 

Piett ducked just in time as Klinton’s blaster was fired, missing the shot by a hair’s breadth. He yelped, instinctively, grabbing his gun as well and pulled the trigger, aiming at Klinton’s arm to disable him from attacking further. Only—the spy had moved, in an attempt to shield his body—and accidentally lined up his chest to the direct line of fire.

Blasters for higher imperial officers had mufflers installed on them, and so usually their shots were quiet. Silent. Almost unnoticeable to those who weren't looking. Its wounds, too, were clean; cauterized and dry, immediately searing the body with impossible heat as it tore through it. 

Piett didn’t see blood seeping out of Klinton’s imperial uniform. Didn’t hear a bang that echoed around the room. He only saw a hole on his chest, and heard Klinton’s staggering breath as he stumbled and fell to his back. 

When he reached for Klinton, the man was gasping for breath, his eyes widening and his eyes gaunt. Piett didn’t understand the knot in his stomach, the dryness in his throat as he watched the man before him slowly dying. He’d _killed_ before, men and women and even _children._

And yet—

Something loomed over him. Like the starting tilt as the universe tried to find a new balance. 

“Fuck.” He said, crouching down to Klinton, who was gasping for air, struggling to clutch onto the very fragile essence of life. “Fuck, Klinton—” He had said, not knowing on what else to speak for. Klinton’s gaping wound was small, its width no bigger than a marker. “Fuck, fuck—” 

“—uke—” croaked Klinton, his voice straining. “Luke—” 

Piett frowned. _What?_

“What the fuck are you—”

“Luke— _Skywalker—”_ Klinton said, giving Piett a wide-eyed look, his eyes desperate and afraid, as it slowly lost light; dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer _until—_

The newly promoted governor watched in horror as his former bunkmate sunk to the ground, his chest still rather than rising and falling, and his eyes opened wide, unblinking. Lifeless, lifeless, _lifeless—_

His hand shook as he palmed the handle of his blaster. Everything was simultaneously too bright and too _loud,_ despite the fact that his office was eerily silent, devoid by any voice but his own staggering breaths. 

Klinton’s body was still warm. 

He tried to— _think._ But his mind had gone awry, going at five million things in once, trying desperately to grab some semblance of sense, of _sanity,_ as Klinton’s last words echoed within his conscience, over and over again, slowly dawning on him. 

_Luke Skywalker._

Piett gasped, wide-eyed, as he instinctively backed away from Klinton’s cooling body. 

_Skywalker._

He took a deep breath. One; two; three; four. Reevaluated his entire exchange with Klinton before— _before._ He had warned him, then; warned him to look away, to turn around. Had warned him about _orders,_ about how he was just—following them. 

_Luke Skywalker._

_Skywalker._

Piett’s shaky legs worked on instinct, taking him to stand and walk back to his table and grab the holopad laying innocently at the table. He was so close on pressing the dial to the man he had served for the past three years, but—

_Klinton, laying dead on the floor after attempting to maim him—_

_The redacted document; the sudden, mysterious take-over of the mission—_

_His unwarranted promotion, random and almost imposing—_

_Luke Skywalker; Skywalker; Skywalker—_

The word _them_ haunted Piett the way any words had never done before, its threat suddenly very _clear_ despite its murky identity. He stopped, then, placed the holopad down on the table like it was a hot, burning coal, almost throwing it. He couldn't use it to _—_

who knows who would be _listening?_

Instead, picked up an old-fashioned commlink from the top drawer. A personal device, one not affiliated with the Empire. As he dialed the line, he could feel his entire body tensing as he waited for the other side to pick up. 

_“Hello?”_

“Hey—” He gulped, trying to steady his voice. “Hey kiddo, it’s—it’s dad.” He halted, drawing a shuddering breath. “Are you in school?” 

A beat. A pause. He could almost see his first daughter’s face scrunching up, trying to figure out why her father had called her up randomly, in broad daylight on a workday with a shaky voice. _“Yeah, I am. Is something—?”_

“Listen to me, Kiddo.” He said, not really giving her the time to reply. “I’m gonna come and pick you up right now, okay? So you go fetch your sister from her class as soon as you can.” 

He was already counting on the logistics—on the planes he had to take, the hangar he needed to use in order to not draw suspicion; already considering summoning the men he had herded away from the Death Star prior to its destruction, years ago. They would suffice, yes. 

They had to suffice.

_“Dad, what? I have an astrophysics exam on the next hour—”_

_"Listen to me!”_ His voice bellowed, echoing through the steel walls, muffling his daughter in a stunned silence. “You need to be _ready.”_

He watched Klinton, his face papery white, his eyes wide open and dry and _lifeless,_ and he blanched. If words of Klinton’s death got out, if the _‘they’_ that he was talking about knew about the information he had just obtained from the man’s dying lips—

_“I don’t understand—”_

His mind was whirring; plotting; _planning._

_Anoat system was a neutral area, right?_

“I will come for you okay?” He said, desperately. “I will _come for you.”_

He waited for his daughter’s hesitant affirmation before snapping the comms shut, his heart hammering. He looked at Klinton again, at the gaping hole in his chest, and drew a shaky exhale.

There was no reversing _this._

* * *

Rex's head was pounding heavily.

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his temple rhythmically, trying to alleviate some of the pain. He didn't want anyone to notice, sentients or otherwise—not that there was a lot to begin with in the ship—lest they'd be even more worried for him, when they really, really  _ shouldn't.  _

Winter, after all, had a knack of making a huge deal out of practically _ everything;  _ his wounds weren't  _ that  _ bad, and he was already getting sufficient treatments from the Alliance—or what remained of it—before their departure. 

All that remained was the pounding in his head. And as a soldier, he could stand a little headache.

Even if he couldn't, he would make himself learn and endure. Better that, than to yet again take the medical supplies that were supposed to be for sentients. 

_ True  _ sentients. Not a bred-out soldier like him. 

He winced again, though for different reasons this time—the guilt, it seemed, had only intensified everytime he thought about all the medical aids—all the  _ luxuries— _ he had received, when back at the base, there were people, actual people, groaning in pain, unable to be tended because of the supplies shortage _.  _

(A shortage he had a hand in making—for clones weren't made to be equal to naturally born organic sentients, let alone be  _ prioritized _ over them.)

The pounding in his head grew even more painful, then, and Rex called himself to stop. Maybe he should try not to contemplate too much. Clones weren't really made for philosophical matters, anyway.

_ Clones.  _

The Captain narrowed his eyes, a faint memory picking up. This headache… now that he thought about it, felt like—

"Rex?"

Concentration broken, he looked up to see Ahsoka, walking into the room—less of a room, more of a modified hallway, with how small the ship was and how little spaces were—with sympathetic eyes. “Hey, ‘Soka.” He said, gently. “What are you doing here?” 

Ahsoka shrugged, putting her hands into her trouser’s pockets. “It’s Winter’s shift.” She said, tilting her chin slightly to the direction of the cockpit. 

“Huh.” Said Rex, amused. Time really did flow quick in space. “Already?”

“Yep. Figured I’d get some fresh air, check how you’re doing,” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Winter said you're feeling better." She began, carefully, and Rex could detect the slight skepticism she had on her voice, perhaps from seeing his uncomfortable expression.

He quickly shoved his pains deep below the surface, giving Ahsoka a steady grin. "I am, yes." He affirmed, smoothly. He was good at that, was taught to always do that before natural organic sentients. Even now, years after the unconditioning of his clone ways, Rex still retained some of the ways he was taught to carry himself. 

Ahsoka raised a doubtful eyebrow at him. "You're clutching your forehead before I come in." She pointed out bluntly. "If you're in any new pain—"

_ "No,"  _ he said, firmly—forcefully. "I'm  _ better,  _ Ahsoka." He almost glared at her, trying to repress the effect of the strain to his head. "We're already running low on the supplies. It should be for you or the Princess, at this point." He shook his head fervently.  _ "Not _ me."

The togruta looked at him warily, her gaze sharp and intent. "...you know you deserve this, right?" She finally asked, softly. Rex's body tensed as she took a seat at the edge of his bed. "We packed enough for  _ three  _ sentients, Rex. That includes  _ you."  _ She said, looking at him gently. 

"Waste of resources if you ask me."

_ "Rex." _

Ahsoka's tone made him look away. The memory of him, heatedly debating Princess Winter over the supplies she was trying to allocate for him, resurfaced to his already pounding head. He'd refused, profusely—but being a royal guard for two decades had taught him that there was no debating the Princesses of Alderaan. If they had made up their minds—well.

Still, that didn't dissipate the guilt for being able to access these things, however spare; because when the rebellion had to make a choice, treatments and rations like this should be prioritized for natural organic sentients, not—well,  _ him.  _

(The fact that he was even  _ here,  _ fighting with a free mind, body and soul, was enough testament to his guilt; for running alone, for surviving alone while his brothers were made as a slightly more refined disposable Droids by the  _ Empire—) _

"Rex?" 

He looked up to see Ahsoka, her eyes sad and wary. "I do." He said;  _ I don't _ , he thought. "But it's just a headache, Ahsoka—nothing a caff in the morning can't fix." 

"We're in space; time is an abstract and there is no morning here." Ahsoka rebutted, falling into their old pattern of bantering lightly at any given time. 

Rex played along, smiling inwardly now that he had an opening to distract her. "we're about to arrive at the destination soon anyway, so maybe there  _ will be  _ a morning." 

"Polis Massa is an  _ asteroid.  _ Asteroids don't have  _ mornings."  _

They went for a couple of rounds, and just when he thought he was off the hook, just when Ahsoka was visibly more relaxed—

His head pounded; hard and sudden and so intrusive he had to take a sharp breath and immediately lay down. 

"Rex!" 

"’Am fine." He mumbled, massaging his temple vigorously, trying to alleviate the pain. "Just—hurts a bit."

The togruta made a displeased sound as she took a seat right across him, grabbing a chair and inching closer, trying to get eye contact out of him. “Doesn’t seem like  _ a bit,  _ if you ask me.” said Ahsoka, not unkindly.

“It’s nothing that I’m not used to.” Replied Rex, perhaps a little too quickly, as he continued to pinch his forehead. “It’s just—a headache.” 

But truthfully, even he was starting to doubt that. 

His mind drifted back to the past, the day he discovered his programming and had to accept the fact that he was living with a ticking slave chip. It no longer was connected to his primary cognitive system, able to override his conscience no more—but the thing still laid  _ there,  _ too dangerous to remove due to possibilities of giving him an irreparable brain damage. 

The fact that he was here, now, having a conversation with Ahsoka rather than serving her  _ Master,  _ his  _ General,  _ as his metaphorical fist _ , _ proved that the disabling had worked. But every time he went for regular check ups, every time he had the luxury of being examined by doctors, he always asked. And they always declined.

So he continued to be haunted by moments, from time to time; moments when he could almost  _ feel  _ the initiations of the programmings, the alterations made to the system. Those days felt like dreadful trance, where he could nearly taste what his brothers were going through, where the hands of _ slavery  _ could be felt hovering over him like a greedy  _ vice,  _ refusing to let one of its pawns  _ go,  _ even decades later. 

This felt like one of those moments. 

Ahsoka seemed to realize it as well, because from her peripheral, he saw her having this grounded look, like a realization, before she carefully, carefully approached the topic. “You know,” She said, way too idly, for it to be genuinely casual. “You know, Polis Massa _is_ a med-center, maybe when we arrive you can—”

He already knew what she wanted to say, and he was putting a foot on it before she could even finish.  _ “No.”  _ He sighed. “‘Soka, just—let it be, alright?” 

“But maybe they could—” 

_ “‘Soka.”  _ Rex’s voice was calmer now, more of a plea than anything else. “Everybody else says they _can’t,_ okay?” He threw his face, looking at the depth of the space, averting himself her gaze. The pounding in his head was all too palpable now, haunting him along with the grim, dejected verdicts he had heard over the years. 

_ It is too dangerous, Captain.  _

_ You could die, Captain.  _

_ We could accidentally reactivate it, Captain.  _

“I don’t see why this one is any different.” Rex sighed, feeling the pain subside. “Just—let’s do what the mission asked us to do, and  _ nothing  _ more, alright?” 

Ahsoka looked at him,  _ really  _ looked at him, and Rex lowered his gaze, too tired of actually having to morph his expression into those of careful blankness to hide the pain. He never did learn to shield his emotions once he had the liberty of actually feeling  _ them,  _ anyway—but the togruta finally sighed, her youthful hand reaching his wrinkling one, a contrast that reminded him all too well to the different nature of their existences. “If that’s what you want,” said Ahsoka, gently. 

Rex nodded, a little too quick and a little too firm that the insides of his head shook, causing him to scrunch his eyes. “It is.” 

Several beats of silence passed between them, and Rex could see the way Ahsoka sighed, letting the matters go. Now that she was out of arguments to convince him, she seemed to have other things in her mind, something she tried hard to suppress.

"A credit for your thoughts?" He asked, tracing the back of her hand. Ahsoka looked up, mild surprise coloring her face. "It's just the two of us, here." He added, quickly. 

Her smile softened, then sobered. "It's always been the two of us." She said, absent-mindedly.

"All the more reason to tell me what you're thinking." He said, only half-teasing. "Come on, Snips. I won't judge—or tell."

Hearing the affectionate nickname made her tense, for a split second. Even if many years have passed and they'd become different people than they first met, Ahsoka never could truly be at ease with that nickname. Not again.

Not with the Fate of its giver looming over their heads.

Ahsoka sighed, pulling her hand away, fiddling with her fingers. "It's just—" she began, then paused. "I don't want to sound like those cryptid, ancient masters sitting at the Jedi Council, but—" she pressed her lips into a thin line, contemplating. Rex waited, patiently. "I've been sensing a great  _ disturbance  _ in the force for quite some time now." 

Rex's idle movement halted, abruptly. He looked up at her, meeting her uneasy blue eyes. Ahsoka never talked about the  _ Force,  _ not really; not after she left the Jedi Order, and especially not after they had joined the rebellion. The most she would say was technical explanations when she was teaching Luke basics, nothing more.

He knew that for Ahsoka, the Force was a mere tool, now; nothing more than her vibroblade, or her blasters. She no longer wanted to hear what the universal thread had to say about their lives, not after its spokespeople had ruined hers.

So for her to admit this out loud was… unusual.

"Good or bad?" Asked Rex, warily. 

The spy shook her head, her forehead creasing. "Not sure." She said, looking at a random point at the walls of his nurseward. "I'm never really good with guessing what the Force was hinting." She sighed, heavily. "That's always more of Mas— _ his  _ thing." 

The slip was a near-miss, and both of them would continue to pretend that the almost casual mention didn't cause the pang in their hearts. Instead, he diverted the discussion before the grief could take root. 

"Have you contacted the twins?" He asked. Ahsoka shook her head, worry etched into her eyes. 

"Luke, earlier." Said Ahsoka, fiddling with her comms. "He initiated it, actually; asked about Leia, her whereabouts. He sounds like he was panicking." She shook her head, frowning. "I tried to talk to him some more, but then the line went down. I haven't been able to contact him again since." 

That… didn't sound good. "I hope he doesn't plan to do anything stupid that could jeopardize his, uh," he paused, trying to find a suitable word, "Jedi training."

_ (Or his safety,  _ a dark afterthought whispered to his conscience, reminding him of Ahsoka's desperation mere nights ago, recounting the bounties sent by the Empire to catch the sunshiny boy.)

Ahsoka scrunched up her nose, visibly displeased by the reminder of Luke's current activities. The subject of the Jedi was still sore for her, even now, decades after the bombing incident. Not that Rex could blame her—the past order was… less than pleasant. 

"With him, who knows?" She said, sighing. "I tried to tell him to stay put, to not worry, but the connection was shitty, and—" she exhaled, frustration evident in her tone. "With that Skywalker impulse, I'm not even sure that the combined ghosts of Mace Windu and Obi-Wan could hold him back from  _ anything _ . Least of all Yoda alone." She soured upon mentioning the two former Jedi Masters. 

He felt a knot tightening in his gut, and Rex stroked his beard, thinking. "He asked for Leia, right?" He piped up, almost worriedly. "Maybe you can comm her, tell her to, uh, do that—twin thing they do a lot—"

"But that's just  _ it,  _ Rex." Ahsoka pressed on. "I tried calling her, calling  _ anyone _ on the Falcon, really. But the transmissions were rejected." She fretted, "I tried  _ seven times." _ She bit the insides of her cheeks. "I'm  _ worried,  _ Rex. What if—? _ " _

Rex pressed his lips tight, feeling the headache growing. "Don't jump into conclusions yet, Ahsoka." He reprimanded her, his intentions gentle but his voice had been strained and distracted due to the growing dull pain swarming his system. "It could be just feelings. Nothing more." He said, distractedly. "They did say they have to lay low, right? Because they were being chased?" 

"But the Falcon rejecting our calls—" Ahsoka protested, her voice ringing loud.  _ Too loud.  _

"Could also be a defense to not accidentally broadcast their location to anyone unwanted who might be listening." Rex winced, trying to internalize the growing pain and failing. "Also—can you please lower your voice?"

Ahsoka looked at him oddly. "I'm speaking normally, Rex." 

Rex didn't really catch her, way too caught up in the pounding of his head. A small part of him had  _ wondered,  _ dreadfully, about that  _ thing  _ still implanted at the dead center of his brain, unable to be taken away despite being disabled decades ago. He massaged his temple, wincing as even the slightest pressure to his forehead shot stinging pain to his conscience. "Rex, hey." He could hear Ahsoka calling him, but her voice was murky and rather faraway. "Rex, are you sure you're—?"

His head felt like it wanted to explode. On Force, what the hell was—?

_ New input, order 72. Type of command; direct, central, irrevocable. Specifics; bringing in Luke Skywalker alive to the Imperial Palace; Eliminate— _

"Alright, that's it—"

Rex opened his eyes, gasping.  _ "'Soka."  _ He said, voice gaunt and laced with dread as he clutched her hand in a death grip. "Change the course of the vessel  _ now."  _

Suddenly, the mission, the destination they were going to, were pushed to the farthest back of his mind.

_ New input; Order 72. _

"What? Do you wanna get back to the base—?"

But the Captain shook his head, fervently—his gaze widening to her in a desperate plea. "No. Not the base." He said, "did Luke—did you tell him where Leia currently is?" 

He could feel Ahsoka's prying gaze, worried and confused. "No, because I don't  _ know _ ." She said, a little bit defensively. "Though I did tell him where she's going to go."

Rex sharply turned his head at her, already making his way down the bed, despite the still-blur vision. "Where?" He asked, his voice laced with urgency.

_ New input; Order 72. _

"Bespin, in the Anoat system. They're going to Han's friend to repair the Falcon's hyperdrive." He could feel Ahsoka's growingly worried glare as she reflexively grabbed his nearest arm to her, trying to steady him. "Han swore it's safe; it's an outer post not governed by the empire—"

But Rex shook his head, fear gnawing his gut. "It's  _ not  _ safe, 'Soka." He said, adamantly, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the pain. 

_ Type of order; direct, central, irrevocable. _

Rex, you're worrying me—"

"We have to go there." Rex clutched Ahsoka's arm, tightly, eyes widening in fear. "Tell winter to divert the route—call Riekaan; we’re putting the mission on hold—"

"You're not making any sense—"

"'Soka, he can't—"

"Rex, slow  _ down—" _

"The 501st just had a new order inserted into their system!" Rex exploded, heaving, the pounding in his head near unbearable. 

Ahsoka snapped her mouth shut. There was a beat of silence. Then two. 

_ Specifics; bringing in Luke Skywalker alive to the Imperial Palace. _

_ "What?"  _

"They know his  _ name,  _ Ahsoka." Said Rex, and now his fear was palpable, hanging in the tense air. "I don't know how, but they—they  _ know."  _ He shuddered, frustrated as he ruffled his bald head. "They're being told to bring him  _ alive— _ to the Imperial Palace."

_ Eliminate— _

He could see Ahsoka paling, her blue eyes widening in shock and fear. "Is it—" she gulped, and Rex knew just how bitter it was, the taste of the name that she was about to mention. "Is it  _ Vader?"  _

_ Eliminate— _

"No." Rex shook his head, his voice grim. "I think—I think it was the  _ Emperor."  _ He looked up at her, eyes narrowing and breath heavy. 

Ahsoka raised a wary eyebrow, seemingly unsure. "How do you  _ know?" _

_ Eliminate— _

"Because," Rex winced, eyes trying to readjust to the still swaying world, still too-bright light around him. "Because the order told them to eliminate  _ Vader _ , should he resist Luke's arrest."

* * *

Very determined, the boy before him was; with his set jaw gritting in conviction and his eyes looking at him intently, it was not for the first time Yoda was reminded of another set of determined eyes, so similar yet so _different._

Yoda sighed. "Much like your father, you are." He said, somberly. Thinking about his former youngling was always painful, especially when one considered what he had become.

The Young Skywalker before him scowled upon hearing the tone of Yoda's voice. "You keep saying that like it's a bad thing." He said, setting down his helmet before he picked up the leftover weed on the turbos of his plane.

Yoda merely gave the boy a wistful look. There was so much he wanted to convey with just that one sentence; how it was simultaneously a praise and a warning. The boy deserved to know the _whole truth,_ but—

**_Not yet, Wise Master._ **

The little man snorted. _Wise,_ he thought, rather bitterly. He was many things; ancient, knowledgeable, very much _lonely—_ but being _wise_ was something he wasn't. His perceived wisdom was mere facade for naivety, for arrogance. 

But the Force had spoken, and Yoda, its humble servant, was to obey, not ask. 

Instead he looked up to the boy—so young and bright and almost _blinding,_ his eagerness to do good and his kind, forgiving heart reminded him of a senator in another lifetime—and asked. "Sure of this, are you?" 

Luke was loading his Astromech Droid—the one his father used to wield, and _oh,_ how time had _flown_ —as he answered. "They're family. I have to go save them." He grunted, lifting the Droid up rather harshly, much to its trilling protest. "Sorry Artoo." 

_[It's alright, Luke.]_ The Droid beeped, dryly. _[But you're repairing my dented exterior first thing after you're finished saving Leia and Han.]_

The boy gave Artoo a small smile, before turning to face him. "I promise I'll come back here as soon as we can." He said, determinedly. "And I always keep my promise." 

Yoda hummed, leaning slightly into his staff as he watched Luke unloading the objects to his freighter. "So certain, you are." He said, idly. "Even if you know not of what happened to them?"

"I keep having visions of them in pain, and—" Luke paused, then, mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something more. He pressed his lips, then, shaking his head. "That should be enough reason to go."

"And what about you, hmm? To you, what could happen?" 

The boy shrugged, seemingly having little regards to his own life—his own safety. Yoda's big eyes trailed Luke as he made way to the muddy surface, lifting his compartment. He could feel the turmoils within the boy; the gnawing anxiety, the urgent need to _know,_ the lack of restraint, the bare minimum self-preservation. 

He shook his head. _Much like his father, he is._

"Completed training, you have not." Yoda reprimanded him. The Force hummed around him, agreeing. "Go now, if you must. But risk endangering them, you may; and everything they have fought for." He paused, then, waiting for the boy to look at him with suspicious eyes. "Endanger yourself to the dark side, you will." 

He remembered those first few days of training, where Luke's gaunt face walked out of the cave, refusing to tell him what happened. The boy looked shaken, and the Dark Force had _sung._

**_Claim him, we will. Just like we've claimed his father before him..._ **

Luke practically shoved the compartment with all his might, and Yoda could feel the spike of anger rising from him in the force. This boy had shields for his thoughts, but his emotions… "I have learned _much."_ He insisted, annoyance lacing his voice. "And the other alternative is to _not help them."_ He turned to Yoda, wagging an eyebrow in disbelief. "Is that what the Light side of the Force wants? To not help people in need?"

Yoda was—stunned. For a split second he heard someone else; a much more feminine, yet equally determined voice. He looked at Luke and saw brown eyes, brunette curls.

_Son of the senator, indeed._

_"No, Luke."_ A voice said, almost more of an echo than a solid sound. _"The Light would want her children to be_ **_ready."_ **

Luke whipped his head, peering over what was behind Yoda to look better, to make sure _who_ he was seeing. But Yoda didn't need to to see to know who was there. He recognized the Force presence enough. 

"Ben!"

 _"Quite."_ And only then did Yoda turn to see Obi-Wan, finding his blue-tinted presence to be soothing. _"Hello, Luke."_

Luke blinked, gaping. Certainly not because he saw him for the first time, no; it seemed that Ben had visited the boy much more than Yoda had counted for, but— "are you saying I'm not _ready?"_ Luke pointed out, his tone accusing.

 _"No one ever really is, Luke."_ Replied Obi-Wan, diplomatically. _"The Dark's temptation is often strong, and inviting. To face against it completely unprepared—"_

"But I am _prepared."_ Luke's protest was rushed and desperate. "You made sure of that. Master Yoda made sure of that."

 _"My boy,"_ the Master said, somberly. _"To feel prepared is to be arrogant."_ He said, softly, _"and arrogance could lead to the Dark."_

Yoda nodded, fervently. “Yes, yes.” He said, pointing his staff at his colleague, “listen to Obi-Wan, you must.” He croaked. “Your choices; be mindful of them, Young Skywalker.” 

Luke stilled, his movements stopping. Yoda could feel his mind gearing, thinking, adding a turmoil on the already rifting Force around them. "It could also mean confidence." He said, after a moment of silence. "And shouldn't we be confident? Of the Light's _help?"_

Yoda snorted, rather fondly. There was it again; the remnants of his mother’s talent, echoing through his words. “Very good at playing with words, you are, my young padawan.” 

“Your young—what?” 

But Yoda shook his head; his tired, ancient eyes watched as the boy peered over him in confusion and saw someone else. Yoda always saw someone else, in him—his father’s conviction, his mother’s kindness, Obi-Wan’s endurance. Yoda saw Ahsoka Tano, so young and wounded by the actions of the council. Saw younglings with their eyes wide open, head severed in a blood-bathed temple after the massacre at the hands of the boy’s father. 

Perhaps that was why he was so harsh on the boy, why he kept on pushing him to his limits, why he always demanded the almost-impossible out of him. 

(Idly, he wondered if he was continuing centuries-long fault, for imposing so many ghosts into the young boy’s existence. For making his existence an atonement for the past rather for the hope of the future.)

Luke’s eyes were still trailing him off, and Yoda could sense the questions, the wonder, the agitation. The old Master sighed, tilting his head aside and exchanged glances to Obi-Wan, seeking guidance to the Force-ghost, to those who had long passed. 

_My old friend,_ he thought, _what to do, what to do?_

Obi-Wan gave him a waning smile, looking just as tired and just as sad. 

“You both know I’m still here, right?” 

He glanced at the boy once more, who looked at them vindictively. “So insistent, you are—to help them.” He said, mildly. “Why?” 

Luke tilted his head, looking at him like he’d grown an additional limb. “I told you, they’re _family.”_ He said, emphasizing on the last part. “I’ll do anything, _anything_ to ensure their safety.”

The old master could see Obi-Wan’s force ghost tensing, beside him, as if he knew something Yoda did not. His translucent face paled, his eyes stricken. _“Even if ‘anything’ could mean selling your soul to the Dark?”_ He asked, softly. _“There are many reasons to fall, young one; and not all of them are vile.”_

Yoda had not truly known the reasons behind Anakin Skywalker’s fall—that information had not been divulged to him by the Force. But he remembered his last interaction with the young man prior to his fall, about stopping death, about preserving an attachment—about preventing premonitions from coming true.

The Old Master thought of the Senator, so frail and weak after giving birth, about her twin children, brighter than any suns of the world. Thought about her insistence to Obi-Wan, loving and broken; 

_“There is still good in him—”_

He could make an educated guess. 

Luke paused, looking at Obi-Wan with wary eyes. For the first time in a while, he could sense the boy’s resolve shaking, as he started to doubt himself. But— “It might be a possibility.” He said, slowly, and Yoda could sense the boy’s turmoil, once more. “But if we let possibilities of failure stop us, then we are never going to get anything _done.”_

In the Force field surrounding the boy, Yoda could see Dark and Light, warring, each seducing and warning him, trying to pull him to their side. And the battle was strong, yes, and _raging,_ but—

_Luke. Lightbringer. The Sunshine._

The light, however faint, prevailed. 

“Your wisdom.” Said Yoda, finally. “You got it from your mother.” He saw the boy’s eyes widening, wondering, and in that moment the light in him shone brighter and _oh._

_Hope, wistful and eager to make itself known._

For Skywalker’s determination was not the only thing running through his veins; for there were Amidala's kindness, as well; Kenobi’s sensibility, as well. This boy—this bright, sunshiny boy—contained _multitudes,_ a manifestation of all the people before him, and perhaps that would be their downfall, yes, or—

It could also be their _salvation._

“Then nothing more could I say, to stop you.” He said, shaking his head. Somehow he didn’t feel as dreadful, this time—as he listened to the Force singing around him; blooming and hopeful. “Very well, then, if that is what you believe; as soon as possible, you shall return—and may the force be with you.” 

Obi-Wan looked at him in surprise, seemingly shocked at his blessing to the boy. The boy, too, seemed to be surprised at the sudden admission, as he shifted in his stance, unsure on what to do next, when there was no longer a debate waiting for him.

 _[Luke.]_ The trill of the Astromech Droid surprised all of them, _[I think you left your lightsaber in the Master's hut.]_

The boy's stunned face turned into panic, as he palmed his waist, where the saber usually hang. "Oh shit." He said, throwing Artoo a sheepish look, before turning to Yoda. "Master—"

"Go." Said Yoda, waving a hand. "Fetch your lightsaber." He said, gazing at Luke somberly. "Need its help, you will." 

Luke gave the old Master an apologetic look, before bolting to the depth of the forest, no doubt running as fast as he could to grab his weapon. He had always carried it with him—to forget it was highly uncharacteristic of him. 

(Perhaps it was the wills of the Force, trying to deny the inevitable. 

But Yoda had learned a long time ago—twenty two years past, to be exact—that sometimes even the Force couldn’t stand against the wills of a Skywalker.)

In his wake, he could see Obi-Wan sighing, giving him a wry smile and a nod. There wasn’t much that they talked about, these days. Wasn’t much that they argued about. Yoda was old—he was tired of arguing. 

_“Please take care of him.”_ Obi-Wan had said, instead, his voice frail and broken, even from beyond the veils of the afterlife. _“Please.”_

Drawing a sigh, Yoda gave him a wistful stare. “Do my best, I will.” He said; _Not fail him the way I did his father, I will,_ he thought, sending the unsaid through the Force. It was a lofty promise, one he had doubts about, but—

He said it himself, hadn’t he? _Do or do not; there is no try._

Little by little, Obi-Wan’s force presence waned, fading into the background before all of him finally was reunited with the Force. Yoda could feel his signature blending in, before it became one with the mishmash of tangled threads connecting the universe.

In Obi-Wan’s wake, there was only him and the arrays of technologies Luke had brought and would bring with him. 

_[You have not told him.]_

He turned to Luke’s chirpy Astromech—blue and familiar, an echo of the past quite like himself. Two decades had passed, and yet somehow the Droid still sounded just as judgy—just as snippy. 

No wonder the Skywalkers took a liking to him. 

"That I have not." Yoda admitted, nodding as he leaned to his staff to waddle closer to the Bot. "But neither have you." He mused, giving the Droid a twinkling glance, his smile weak but present. 

If Droids could snort, perhaps R2D2 was currently doing it. _[I was programmed to obey an oath. I cannot break it.]_ he said, his tone blunt and matter-of-fact, before turning into a slightly accusatory one. _[Why did you not? What is your excuse?]_

Yoda drew a sigh, his smile sobering. "Similar to you, I suppose." He replied, thinking about the oaths he took as a newly knighted Jedi, all those centuries ago. "Promised the Force, I have. Its wills, I listen to—first and foremost."

Even when the Force was unclear about many things, it had been blatant on this one thing. 

**_Not yet, Wise Master._ **

Hearing his reply, the Droid’s answer became even more snappish, if it was even possible. _[The Force.]_ He had said, and he sounded like he had a personal vendetta with it. _[Is it not the power current corrupting Anakin's system? Obeying it seems like flawed programming.]_

Yoda couldn’t blame him for thinking that way. The Force, in a way, had taken the man that he had cared for—in ways that his system perhaps couldn’t comprehend. 

"Perhaps." Yoda nodded again, pausing. "But many things, the Force is. Contain wisdom, some of it does." He gave the Astromech a meaningful look, trying to convey what he meant by more than just words. 

R2D2’s indicator blinked several times, rapidly. _[But not all of it.]_

A beat passed.

"Not all of it, yes."

If he closed his eyes, he could recall all the times the Force had been as helpful as it was destructive—times where it had led as much as it had strayed. R2 might not be a sentient organic, might not be a Force-Sensitive being, but—

He was of Anakin’s; and those of Anakin’s were the testament of just how the Force contained multitudes. 

_[He differs from his primary.]_ the Astromech trilled, again. This time, there was less hostility in his tone, and more contemplation. It seemed that Yoda wasn’t the only one feeling nostalgic, here. _[Retain some of his coding—but some of hers, too.]_

A pause, then; _[I do not know if it is a good or a bad thing.]_

Yoda turned his gaze to where the boy had disappeared, waiting for his return. It shouldn’t be long, now—now that his eagerness was not limited nor was they scorned. "So am I, my little friend." He spoke, eyes looking at all the _life_ surrounding this planet; the trees, the creatures, the _water._ "See, we shall—" 

_Luke. Lightbringer. The Sunshine._

"the light; prevail, will it? Or perish?" 

R2D2 beeped, long and curious. _[You sound like you already have the answer.]_

"Ah, but I don't.” Yoda corrected him, eyes still glued to his observation as he tried to attune himself better to the Force. Listen _better,_ know _better—_

(Around him, the Force was singing, shifting, _changing.)_

“Always in motion, the future is. No good in trying to stop them."

_[And yet you are letting us leave with a minimum argument.]_

Chuckling, Yoda watched as a shadow appeared from afar, followed by an excitable boy, his fist rising high, clutching a lightsaber in his grip. "Learned the hard way, I have, my little friend—" He said, trailing the boy’s every movement, "when a Skywalker has wills, nothing would stand against."

Truly, he reminded him of _so many things,_ but for the first time since he had met him…

_Luke. Lightbringer. The Sunshine._

"All we can do… is to help them.”

He saw _Luke Skywalker,_ an entity of his own stemmed from decades of legacy. And somehow—that was _enough._

“This time… make the right choice—they hopefully will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so earlier in this chapter i was researching on military ranks for plotting reasons and I just realized that SW used simultaneously both Army and Naval ranks at the same time??? just something that i thought was interesting lmao. reviews would be highly appreciated!!
> 
> Edit on 4/5/2020: I re-did Rex's part and revised it so they wouldn't arrive at the Polis Massa yet during their conversation. it's nothing major, but i've been wanting to do this for a while for uhhh continuity's sake. that being said it doesn't really affect the story, and even if it does it's not that much. enjoy!


	7. seven.

Leia roused to a warm, comforting bed. Way too warm and way too comforting for her taste, and for a split second she thought she was _home,_ in her room, about to face the day filled with mama’s poor attempt at humor and papa’s genuine laughter at her tries anyway.

_"Wake up, Leilila," called Papa's soft voice, caressing her unruly hair with his coarse hand. "Come on, mi pequeña princesa. Wake up, now."_

_"'am not li'l 'nymore." Leia grumbled, snuggling to her pillow in defiance._

_There was a bellowing laughter, one she was so familiar with, and an approaching smell of leftover cigarra smoke as she felt Papa inching closer to her head. "You'll always be little for me." He said, cheekily. "And I think you'll find your mother agreeing with the sentiment."_

_Leia still refused to open her eyes, scrunching it tight. "Am taller than mama." She said, stubbornly, earning another chuckle from Papa as his lips brushed her forehead._

_"Whatever you say, mi amor." He said, kissing her hair and poking her cheeks. "Now up; Alderaan is waiting for her Princess."_

except—

_Alderaan was gone._

She woke up jostling from her position, sitting up straight and tense. “Wha—?” She asked, voice croaky and eyes bleary as they adjusted to the room, to the too-bright-light. Her sudden movement caused someone at the side of her bed to _jump,_ quite literally, almost falling due to the surprise. “Where—”

“What the—” It was her smuggle— _Han,_ and he, too, looked bleary and off-guard. His unfocused brown eyes were narrowing vindictively to her direction, but not to her _exactly_ until they _did._ Then suddenly the hostility dissipated, the pair of eyes widening in shock—and relief. “Leia!” 

The Princess didn’t even have time to prepare herself as suddenly she was tackled, pushed back to her bed in a movement that may have hurt her had it not been for the suspiciously soft bed. 

_(did she just caught herself unconsciously referring to Han as_ her smuggler?)

“Oof,” Said Leia, blinking as she looked down on the smuggler, confused. "Han, you're _heavy."_ She all but grumbled with a croaky voice, half-hearted as she shoved him slightly away from her. 

Han, though, didn't really need the shove—for he immediately backed away from her, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry." He said, "I was just—worried." He scooted over to the side of her bed, and Leia might still be readjusting her return to the world of living, but she was painfully aware of his hand covering hers, clutching her tight.

A part of her wondered, then, as she felt warmth creeping up her face; _what does this—?_

She immediately shook her head. _Focus, Leia. Not now._ Instead she scrutinized his words, slowly registering it to her conscience; _worried,_ he had said, with a tired relief. 

Leia narrowed her eyes. _Worried for her?_

Opening her mouth and feeling just how dry it was every growing second, Leia winced as she struggled to talk. "...why?" She asked, her voice rough and patchy. 

Han—thank Force for him, _really—_ picked up the bottled water at the top of the drawers next to the bed and handed it to her, frowning as he did so. "You… don't remember?" 

Gulping down the water greedily, Leia shook her head, still confused. _What should she remember?_

The smuggler before her looked _incredulous,_ as his eyes widened in further worry. _Wait. Was it bad that she didn't remember?_ "Tell me what your last memories were."

Leia _thought,_ running her head and trying to pick moments from her conscience. "I was calling Winter, and we were in this cave, running from—a Bounty Hunter?" She frowned, her memories growing murkier. "And I remembered… that there were large creatures. Mynocks, you say?" She paused, confused. "And then you pulled me back into the ship and we're speeding out, and—" she blinked, "were those actually rows of _teeth_ we were facing?" 

There was a sense of urgency when Han asked her, "what else?" 

Narrowing her eyes, Leia tried to think some more. "I remembered…" _distress. Large mouth closing them in, then—a room, unfamiliar yet somehow welcoming, and a man._

_The Man, tall and handsome and so similar to Luke—crushing her into a tight hug with wide, wet eyes while he fervently thanked the Force—_

_"Are you still here? Alive, I mean?"_

_"...yes."_

Leia's eyes widened. 

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa!"_ She didn't even realize that she was moving from her bed until Han pinned her down. He looked at her scandalously, "Princess, slow down!" He said, concern written all over his face. "Just—slow down, okay? Take it easy—you haven't been conscious for _two days."_

Two— _what?_ "What do you _mean,_ two days?" She asked, confused. "I was just—" she paused, reassessing herself and realized her surroundings, truly, for the first time. 

This was a bright, sleek place; filled with adequate lighting and facilities, nothing at all like her crude bunk in the Falcon. When she looked down her clothes had changed into something more sleep-appropriate; a silk pajama, and from the looks and feel of it, probably Nubian.

Leia blushed, mind already running on all the possible scenarios of how the change could happen. 

"Your Droid changed you, don't worry." Said Han immediately, raising his hands up in surrender as if he was able to read through her mind, carded through her worries. "I wasn't even in the same room."

"Oh." Leia said, relieved oozing out of her, before quickly taken over by curiosity. She looked around again, noticing the clouds at her windows, pretty as the twilight sun lighted the sky with a soft glow of orange. "Is this… Bespin?" 

She turned back to Han, who was now grinning, albeit noticeably softer and warier than usual, like he was still half-afraid that once again, Leia could— _what? What happened to her anyway?_ "Pretty, right?" He said, scooting over, staying closer to her without being too overbearing. "Can't believe Lando got all this, but that Tricky Bastard always knew how to reap his coins." He snorted, looking lost in the memories.

Leia hummed, cataloguing the view before her. There were advancements of technology, left and right; and the people passing by—either through transports or by walking on the sky bridges—showed no worry nor suspicion that something could happen in the very next second. “This region isn’t controlled by the Empire, right?” 

Han sent her a dirty look at that, like he was faux-hurt at her assumption that he would bring her anywhere _near_ the Empire intentionally. “‘Course not.” he said, defensively. “It’s _safe,_ Leia. Lando himself guaranteed it.” 

_Too safe,_ Leia thought, dryly, as she watched the passer-bys. She’d been a politician long enough to know that regions that were completely freed by the Empire were either war-torn-lands or infested by illegal activities—mostly slavery. Almost always slavery. For the Empire to simply turn the other cheek at such a civil, well-off society… something was off. 

But she put the assessment aside, instead she pressed onto the next urgent question, the one that had been nagging in her head since she had realized that she had woken up no longer hovering on the deep dark space. 

"When did we… arrive?" 

Han looked at the window, and Leia, too, turned; seeing the wispy clouds passed by serenely, like nothing could ever go wrong in this city. "Yesterday morning. Not long after you—" he paused, looking at her warily.

Leia raised her eyes, her expression demanding—and confused. "Not long after I _what,_ Han?" She asked, challengingly. But truth be told; beneath it all, she was _afraid._

_The way Han had spoken, the way he looked at her…_

_What had happened?_

Han's expression then turned somber—something that surprised her—as his larger hand took hers into his clutch, bringing it closer to his chest. "Leia, you almost _died."_ He said, and his voice sounded grief-stricken. "We were escaping this kriffing space worm and you—you did your, uh, _Force thing—"_ he frowned; still not used to the powers, she saw, "to hold its mouth from closing in to us. And then you—" his breath hitched, his monologue halting into a stammer. "And then you _collapsed."_

A beat. A pause. "What?" Leia asked, incredulously. 

“According to SH-4 and the healers, you had _extreme exhaustion.”_ The lines on his face deepened as Han sighed, as if recalling the event physically pained him. “You were cold and clammy, your breath was shallow, you had _internal bleeding_ and SH-4 wasn’t even sure that you were ever going to make it to Bespin.” He said, his voice laced with dread as he clutched her hand tighter—perhaps an instinctual move, not something that he did consciously. “Honestly, Your Worship? Most suspenseful hours of my life. Even worse than being chased by a bunch of imperial scums while sneaking a wookie away from slavery.” He grinned, weakly, but Leia could see the facade right through, thinly veiled behind the poor attempt at humor. “Zero out of ten, would not recommend ever again; ask Chewie, he’ll agree with me.”

She could respond to his shields, could let the joke be the lead of their conversation. But she felt just how tight his grip to her were, how slow the colors seeped back to his face. How Han had bedding imprints on his cheeks, mussed up hair, and even hadn’t changed clothes from the last time she saw him at the Falcon—a solid two days ago!—evidences that he’d probably spent most of his time here, laying his head at the side of her bed, accompanying her before she even woke up. 

Leia knew fear when she saw one, and Han was _deathly afraid._

_For her._

“Oh.” She said, and the little things that kept on fluttering in her chest for the past weeks—no; _years—_ bloomed into a full-blown soar, now, singing and dancing within the confines of her lungs, causing her feelings to bubble with something she couldn’t quite name. “Oh, _Han.”_ She said, and then she untangled her hands from his grip, and chose to instead pull him closer to her embrace, letting his head sinking to her chest, his ears pressed to her chest where he could hear that _thump-a-thump-a-thump_ sound of her heart beating, _living._ “I’m sorry,” she said, softly, burying her face to his hair. 

She could feel Han tensing up at first, his mouth opening, perhaps trying to make witty comeback to save his dignity as a self-acclaimed suave smuggler. But he soon melted, his hand coming up to her back, holding her close. “Force, Princess.” He said, and now he sounded more raw, more _vulnerable,_ “I thought I was going to _lose_ you.” 

“I’m here.” She said, softly, “Just took a prolonged nap.” 

Han chuckled, but the noise he made was sticky and wet, like he was trying to cover up an impending chortle. “Well, it’s _really_ long.” He croaked, looking up at her— _chocolate meeting honey—_ and grinned weakly. “Hope you had a good time while you were at it.”

Leia giggled— _giggled!—_ as her fingers idly swept Han’s unruly hair, mind idly thinking about—

_The Man, encasing her in a tight and protective hug as he pressed his lips to the top of her head firmly, mumbling his gratitude to the Force fervently, like he was so deathly afraid of losing her despite never really having her in the first place—_

_Warmth, spreading around her, encasing her in a soft cocoon. It had been so long—so_ long— _since someone radiated these kinds of warmth for her; the last time was before her departure from Alderaan years ago, within the embrace of Papa—_

Her smile faltered. 

_“No one ever told me of her name.”_

_“Padme—Padme Amidala.”_

She narrowed her eyebrows, eyes growing unfocused as she tried to recall. 

_"Are you still here? Alive, I mean?"_

_"...yes."_

“—Leia—?” 

She pushed Han away from her chest, causing an alarmed look to appear before his— _handsome?—_ face. “Han, I—” She hesitated; _how does she say this?_ “I—when I was asleep… I think I saw my _father.”_

Leia could feel Han’s gaze at her, intent and confused. She understood; heck, saying the words out loud were apparently _weirder_ than simply thinking of it in her head—and even _then_ it was already pretty _weird._ “You…” Han trailed off, visibly trying to comprehend her words. “You dreamed of the Viceroy, you mean?” 

Leia huffed, _“no,”_ she said petulantly, “I mean my _father,_ not _papa._ And I _saw_ him, not _dreamed_ about him.” She explained, before wincing—only now realizing how _weird_ the situation was. 

Han, too, was aptly confused. “Uh, maybe it’s just me being the dumb smuggler that I am,” He said, slowly, giving her a sheepish smile. “but you gotta walk me in this one Princess, because I don’t get it.” 

“You’re not _dumb.”_ Said Leia instinctively, frowning at the casual self-deprecation. The subject of the matter was just—hard to rationalize. She herself was thinking on how to make sense of it—so intent and hard that her head started to pound. “It’s just—” She winced, putting her forehead to her palm. “Nevermind.” She said, dismissively, trying to rub off the headache. _Maybe later_ —when she had spent more time in the lands of the living and her brain wasn’t a complete mush after being unused for a full two days. 

Still, she could feel Han’s hurt at her sudden dismissal, her exclusion. “Leia—” he began, frowning as he spoke. She stopped him, grabbing him by the arm, her fingers clutching him in reassurance. 

_“Really,_ Han,” She said, her brown eyes widening, trying to soothe him. “It’s not important—maybe I’m just hallucinating, after all.” She said, softly. She definitely _wasn’t—_ she was almost sure of that because the feeling was similar to the other times where she and Luke had convened in either one of their minds, but—nothing had been ruled out yet. These were still—assumptions, as of now. 

She wasn’t Luke; she wouldn’t blindly trust anything the Force had put before her until there was tangible proof that it had been _right._

Han looked skeptic, but he let go. “Alright.” He said, warily, “but you know you can tell me _anything,_ right?” He sounded gentle— _so gentle,_ and Leia smiled at him, caressing his arms. 

“I know,” She said, softly, gazing into his big, brown, hopeful eyes. 

_Chocolate meeting honey._

Something fleeted in his gaze, and he looked at her with all the— _care? Affection? Adoration?—_ in the world, before he tilted her chin, slightly, and dipped lower, lower, _lower…_

Her whole life, she’d been told that a kiss on the lips were the most romantic thing a lover could give. But as Han’s lips touched her forehead, Leia closed her eyes, savoring all the feelings that bursted along with the softness of the gesture, all the care that came with it. 

_“Han!”_

Both heads whipped to see Chewie, heaving at the doorway, with a carton box in his grip. He sounded panicked, as he didn’t even take time to notice her wakefulness while he marched into the room. _“Look at this!”_ He wailed, slamming the box down the drawer next to Leia’s bed, startling her and eliciting a yelp from Han. 

Peering over to the box, she honestly didn’t know what to expect—and was dreadfully surprised when she was greeted in views of butchered golden limbs and torso. “Threepio?” She whispered, her hand ghosting over the form. 

_"Threepio raised me; He's like my nanny."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah." Leia was smiling fondly at the still-droid before her, caressing the golden plating. "He said I'm the greatest cause for his headache, but I know deep down he likes me." She chuckled, and she could feel the warm hand on her shoulder tightening, pulling her close._

_“Of course he likes you,” Said The Man, and his voice—unlike the ones from their previous encounter, and certainly not the one when he wrecked her beach—was soft and caring, and Leia felt genuinity at his every word as he spoke, “There is nothing not to like.”_

“Who—” Han’s voice brought her back to reality. “Where did you find him like this?” 

_“He was at the conveyor belt in the storage room!”_ Chewie roared, angered. _“These people were probably trying to sell him for parts!”_

Sell him for— “We need to get him fixed,” Leia said, urgently. She could feel knots forming in her stomach already—most probably fear that Threepio was permanently damaged because _he was her caretaker, her nanny, her confidante, the annoying Droid who had watched over her for as long as she could remember—_

“I’ll go get Lando,” Said Han, standing up and startling her with the sudden movement. “I think he has some guys who—” 

_“Han, you can’t be serious.”_ Chewie roared, incredulously. _“There is unlikable probability that it’s his men who dismantled the Goldenrod like this—and you want to ask for his help?”_

“Chewie’s right, Han.” Leia chimed in, her voice grim. She thought about the all-too-serene city, all-too-peaceful surrounding. No one could keep this much order without a certain type of sacrifice. “I don’t _trust_ Lando.”

“You haven’t even _met_ him!” Han protested, looking dismayed. “Besides, he’s my _friend,_ _and_ he hates the Empire probably even more than I do.” His expression turned dark, and Leia felt like there would be more story there, but then Han continued, “He wouldn’t _betray_ us.” 

_"You kind of stole shit from him back then."_ Chewie pointed out, _"Maybe he wants to call it even."_

"Not helpful, Chewie—absolutely not helpful."

_"I'm just saying!"_

Leia sighed, looking at the golden bot before them. She wished she could share the sentiment, but Threepio's dismemberment was laid bare in front of them as a solid evidence of just how suspicious this place was. 

But that concern—for this suspiciously serene city, for the Droid that raised her—was quickly pushed aside, taken over by her growing headache.

Right now, Han and Chewie's elevated bickering were her top priority, as she grew even more dismayed at how their voices rang her ears and pounded her head. "Can everybody just stop _yelling?!"_ She exclaimed, her annoyance evident in her face and—

**_Leia?_ **

She widened her eyes. 

**_Are you alright? Are you safe?_ **

_...Father?_

She said the words tentatively, like she was still half-afraid that she would be wrong, and this would all be some sort of trickery from her enemies, but—

 **_That's right, Leia._ ** And Leia could feel _warmth,_ sent to her in waves, trying to soothe her, nurture her, _love her._ He pronounced her name with the Tatooine accent Luke still couldn't quite shed, calling her _Lai-yah_ with so much yearning in his voice. **_I will be—_ **

"Lei?" Han's voice was murky as he called for her, all the worry he first greeted her when she woke up returning. "Lei, are you—"

**_Lei-Lei?! Are you okay?!_ **

The Princess winced, raising a finger at Han as she massaged her temple. In the force connection between them, she could feel her father's growing confusion and agitation as well, as he said, **_who dares to interrupt our conversation?_ **

_Hold that thought,_ she said distractedly before slamming her walls against him, perhaps harsher than she intended to. She needed to compartmentalize these force connections, otherwise her head would feel like it was about to _explode._

**_Midget, I know you can hear me—_ **

_Call me Midget one more time, Lu, and I'll tell everyone here and at the base about that one time you asked me about how to untraceably access porn through the holopad._

**_Leia!_** Luke sounded so giddy at her reply she felt a little bad for snapping at him, and it only got worse when she could feel Luke growing pale with embarrassment as the threat dawned on him. **_You wouldn't._** He said, voice laced with comical horror.

 _Just—wait._ Leia replied tensely, her flare of annoyance receded as quickly as they rose. _Give me—_

From another, separate side, she could still hear her father impatiently calling her, over and over again. **_Leia, answer me!_ **

**_Hold on,_ ** now it was Luke again, and he sounded—confused? Hopeful? Or even… abhorred? Fearful? **_Is someone else calling you? Another Force user?_ **

But Leia was having none of it, with her walls thinning and the voices overlapping one another. Two people were already a crowd in one's head, but _three?_

**_Daughter, if you do not answer—_ **

**_Lei, I need to know where are—_ **

_Please,_ Leia was pleading now, to— _who?_ Luke? Father? Whatever; they were both listening, right?—her headache growing unbearable with her still slightly fuzzy mind, _you're making my head hurt._

She massaged her forehead again, wincing in pain. She finally decided to just shush them out, pushing them out of her head. Any ounce for doubts regarding his claim to her fatherhood had practically dissipated—for he shared Luke's traits of being _stubborn_ and having horrible timing. 

“You okay, Lei?” She could hear Han asking, and she reflexively nodded, though she was pretty sure that her expression had betrayed her. “Maybe you should lay down.” He said, and Leia felt a hand reaching the pillow behind her. 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Leia opened her eyes, her hand reaching his. The sudden re-exposure to the light made her head felt even _worse,_ now, and she internally cursed herself. “Really, I think I’m just still a little—disoriented.” 

Beneath the too-bright-light, she could feel Han watching her skeptically, but he finally relented. “Alright, Princess—if you say so.” He said, finally, but his hand was still extending, readjusting her pillow to the headboard so it would be more comfortable for her to lean on it. 

Leia felt— _touched_ at the gesture. “Thank you,” she said, softly, waiting until he was done before relaxing her back, taking a deep breath. Her mind was a mess of disarray, and she needed to sort out all these jumbled thoughts and memories and _people_ inside it _soon._

"Ah, I was just looking for you, Han." A new voice—suave and swaggy—entered the room, adding more to Leia's _headache._ She looked up to see a fine-looking man, dressed impeccably well with a smile to match. "And Princess! Such delight to see you coming back to the land of living." He grinned widely at her as he strode at their direction. "My, my, you were a sleeping beauty, but you are even more _gorgeous_ awake." He said, once he reached her, taking her hand to his before giving it a delicate kiss.

 _"Lando."_ Han's voice were laced with warning. 

Oh. _So this was Lando,_ she blushed. It was an involuntary reaction; she still distrusted him, but damn it his flirting game was _good._

She could see Han's expression souring from her peripheral, and he seemed to be recalculating his previous assessment regarding his friend. "Just complimenting a friend, Han, no need to have your feathers ruffled," said Lando, smoothly. 

"We both know there's nothing _just_ with you," Han snidely rebutted, which gained Leia a bubble of satisfaction because was Han _jealous_ of Lando? 

She couldn't help but to chuckle quietly as she kissed Han's cheek, giving his surprised face a quiet smile before turning into a more formal gaze for Lando to see—and know his place. "Thank you for hosting us and letting us repair our ship here, Mister Calrissian." She said, diplomatically. 

"The pleasure is all mine, your highness," he replied wittily. 

"I was wondering, however," she said, continuing as if she didn't hear him; as if she wasn't still sitting on a bed, nursing a headache, and instead was at the imperial Senate, with all her regalia. "My Droid, Threepio, was found dismembered and severely _broken—"_ she waved at the boxed limbs and torso and her heart _cracked_ at the sight of the Bot, once more. "and I want to know _why."_

She held the anger and grief at her torn Droid for _later—_ just like she held most of her other griefs. 

Lando's smile faltered—but only for a split second, which, frankly, only unsettled Leia even _more._ "Must be a mix-up, I'm afraid." He said, approaching closer to the box containing Threepio. "Not to worry, now; my men surely—"

(the Force beneath her fingertips thrummed, much like a tattletale screaming a warning in a language Leia could _almost_ speak but not _quite.)_

"No." Leia firmly said, arm extending over the box, looking at Lando sharply despite her even tone. "We'll fix the Droid ourselves, thank you." She spoke, politely. "Wouldn't want him to be subjected to another session of your men's 'mix-up's." She emphasized the last part, glaring at Lando defiantly.

The man raised his hands in a movement of surrender. "Very well, Princess. No need to be feisty." He said, chuckling good-naturedly. "Anyway; I wanted to inform you that dinner would be ready soon." He said, averting his gaze to Han specifically. "and while I understand that yesterday you were too… focused on other matters," he switched his eyes between Han and Leia, giving a meaningful look. "I wish now that things are… better, you'd _all_ be joining us at the dining hall." 

Something about Lando’s gaze made Leia’s senses tingle all the more alarmed. “Can we—” She cleared her throat, “can we have the food delivered here instead?” She asked, feigning innocence while grabbing her blanket, hopefully nailing the ill-look she was trying to put out. “As you can see, I have only recently woken up, and I’m not sure that I have my full-strength yet to enjoy some festivities.” 

Lando’s eyes narrowed, slightly, and his smile became more… forceful. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Princess—forgive me.” He said, sweetly— _way too sweet._ “But come—you will not regret the dinner we make; it’s delicious, and if you need assistance on walking, I would be more than glad to help you,” he fluttered his lashes suggestively, but even within that gesture there was something _off._

She’d been in the senate for _years_ before their dissolution, and she’d been Princess practically her whole life. She knew the looks of people who were controlled, the looks of people who couldn’t make their own _shots._

Her hunch told her that Lando had that _look._

**_(hear us hear us hear us—_ **

**not her father. not her brother; some _thing_ _else;_ ** something ancient and tense and demanding, warning her— **)**

Next to her, she could feel Han tensing, looking angry—and wary. She grabbed his arm, pulling it closer to her in a silent gesture to reassure him. “I think we can manage on our own, thank you.” She said, politely, not breaking eye contact with Lando. 

“Excellent!” Lando clapped, dramatically, “I’ll send a Droid in an hour to fetch you up, and we can meet at the dining room?” He offered, his megawatt smile returning. Leia nodded, tersely, and watched the man bid them goodbye.

When the last of his footsteps could no longer be heard echoing from the hallways, Leia turned to Han, saying matter-of-factly, “Well; my sentiment still stands.”

Chewie snorted at that. _“If I wasn’t suspicious before, I sure hell am now.”_ He said, picking up Threepio’s box. _“Alright, you two. I’m gonna go try and fix him, if you don’t mind.”_ He said, bidding them goodbye, much to Leia’s surprise. 

“You’re not going to join dinner?” She queried, questioningly. 

Chewie shook his head fervently. _“Somebody gotta stay out here in case your hunch is correct and you need saving.”_ He said, _“Besides, poor Goldenrod can’t patch himself together.”_ He shook the box slightly before leaving. 

Leia had a feeling that Chewie was withholding something, but she chose not ask it outright, instead watched as Chewie’s shadow slowly disappeared from her view, and the echoes of his footsteps grew dimmer. 

“well, thank the Corellian Hells that the Falcon is ready for us to leave this cloudy place after dinner,” Han said, rather darkly, hand clasping on her smaller one. By the looks of it, he seemed to have changed his mind regarding Lando. Leia had a feeling that it was motivated more by _jealousy_ than anything else. “We’ll arrive at the base in no time.” 

Something came up in Leia's memory, then; 

_“General, I've got to leave. I can't stay anymore.” Han, speaking to General Riekaan, his tone grim and solemn and final—_

_“Don’t worry, Your Worship, right after we fix the hyperdrive we’ll drop you straight off at the Rendezvous and you won’t have to see me ever again!” Han, yelling at her when her question regarding their ETA at Bespin somehow escalated into an argument—_

_"See, Princess?! This is why I gotta go and pay Jabba my due!" Han, exclaiming at her in panic as he ducked the shots from the bounty hunter—_

“Then—” Leia gulped her emotions, the sudden thickness in her throat at the thought of being left alone once more. She paused, trying to get ahold of her composure, “then you’re as good as gone, aren’t you?”

Han’s smile faltered, and for a second she was hopeful that he would come up with something to reassure her that _no, he would always stay with her, he would help her win this war—_ but that was moot, now was it not? Empty stacks of words used as false promises.

Leia used to think that she could make her case through screaming and arguing with him, could force him to stay through her words, through her sheer will—but now, she knew that she was only delaying the inevitable. For war was tiring, exhausting, _devastating_ ; she had felt it herself—so who was she to force anyone else to stay and _endure?_

“I’ll do my best to find you again.” Said Han, instead, and Leia buried her head to his chest, listening to his heart beating in tandem with hers. He didn’t say when, didn’t promise an exact time, and somehow that was _better—_ because at least he was being realistic, promising on the attempt rather than the results. “Besides, we have tonight,” His voice was lulling, calming, yet _somber._ “Lando promised us a nice dinner, didn’t he?” 

Leia laughed, but her laugh sounded hollow and thick with emotions. “We better get ready to match the occasion, then,” She said, trying to be cheeky as the poked on his holey shirt, his worn jacket. “And—” she narrowed her eyes then; _about dinner…_

(the force, prickling her skin, telling her to be ready.

_for what?)_

“bring your blaster, will you?” 

Han raised an eyebrow, slightly pulling Leia away so he could look at her. “It’s just _dinner.”_ He said, questioningly. 

“I know,” Leia said, sighing. She couldn’t really put into words, how Lando’s actions alarmed her so, but her gut was rarely ever wrong, so, “just humor me, alright?” 

“...alright.” Han said, resigned, giving Leia a tender brush of his lips at the crown of her hair. “You better start doing your hair now, Princess.” He said, cheekily, playing idly with the loose locks. "I'll come pick you up later, okay?" He promised, before rising, sparing her one last glance as he walked away from her.

In his wake, Leia was alone, and for a second she contemplated reaching out to the male members of her blood family… but she then decided against it, could already feel the headache of possible mental conversations so early after she woke up, with their rather unbeatable wills. 

Instead she swung her legs down the side of the bed, testing her toes, flexing them as she let her feet touch the ground. When she stood up, it was shaky and wobbly, and she had to grab a nearby lamppost in order to balance herself, but it felt— _liberating_ , to be finally out from the bed. 

Leia sighed, trying to take small steps around the room, readjusting her walking capabilities. She walked to the wardrobes, then, finding nice clothes hung neatly in rows. She chose one—a white set with a brown sleeveless overcoat—and shed her pajamas. She picked up her belt, then; thankful that her holster was still containing a blaster, and wore it on her hip, strategically placing it beneath the clothings.

As she sat in the vanity and began doing her hair, she mourned for the fact that no one was there to help her. At the base, she and Winter always took turn braiding one another, and whenever she was on the run, Threepio would carefully set her hair to its elaborate setting. But perhaps above all she missed the delicate fingers of her mama, who'd lull her with lullabies as she set the knots and—

_"No one ever told me of her name."_

_"Padme. Padme Amidala."_

Leia's eyes widened. Not mama—but a mother all the same. 

She took her holopad at the vanity table—she thanked anyone with enough sensibility to bring the device with them and put it here—and entered the name, waiting for the results to come through. 

She'd searched for her perhaps a thousand times in her youth, especially during the time she was writing her paper for the diplomatic class, but now the showing results simply hit _different._ Now she didn't jump into her profile page, memorizing her achievements in passing. Now instead she pressed onto the picture, letting her dolled-up face dominating the screen.

 _Child Queen of Naboo,_ it said, and _oh,_ Leia could see just how _young_ she was in the picture. Fourteen years old and already leading a goddamn planet—Leia was even older than she was at the time. 

_(Past her amazement, Leia had always wondered about the wisdom of letting a child be the leader of an entire region. Papa wouldn't even let her step foot at the Senate until she was 17, and that was already under extreme circumstances due to the raging war around them._

_Sure, queen Amidala was brilliant, but was she prepared to be responsible for the lives of billions when it was handed to her?)_

The make up, as usual, hid the features of her face, but unlike the past times, where she would skip it, this time she stayed gazing at the picture, trying to find _her_ beneath all that white foundation. 

Her eyes, Leia recognized, were _hers._ So was her hair, and her chin. Overall, though, Queen Amidala— _mom,_ she achingly thought—had Luke's softer expression here, with her slight smile and her kind eyes. She thought about the sad woman in her mind, the one she only ever shared with Luke, and pressed her lips tight. It was hard—to link the despairing woman to this seemingly stoic queen. 

_Just what had happened to her mom, that it seemed like she had all her happiness sucked from her face?_

Leia then entered another search word; _Anakin Skywalker._

Luke was the one who was more passionate with their parents, not her. But then again—unlike him, she already had a set of wonderful parents; Papa, with all of his dry jokes and pet names, all of his cigarra-scented-wisdom, all of his bellowing laughter, crinkling the corners of his eyes; and Mama, with her talented hands braiding her hair into yet a new hairstyle, with her soft voice lulling her to bed, with her big grins whenever Leia and Winter snuggled into her quarters.

When they first met, Luke had only learned the true name and legacy of his birth father, whereas Leia had just struggled to get through losing her adopted ones. She didn't have the incentive to be passionate, back then—when her world had very recently fallen apart. She'd seen him, maybe once or twice, when she and Luke were looking through the very little materials courtesy of the Empire's censorship, but back then she was distracted; by grief, by war, by her roles that needed fulfilling.

Now, though, looking at the displayed face of her father with little to distract her, Leia's heart skipped a beat in recognition. She could recognize Luke's blue eyes in there, could recognize his dimpled grin. But—she had his firm expression, his hard-long stare fixated at the camera, frozen in time by the holopicture. 

_"I didn't give you away; not by choice. Never by choice." He sounded so desperate, his voice raw and emotional, "I want you so much, so much—"_

In her mind, his blues were tinted with gold, and always laced with anger and desperation. She wondered why that was. 

_"Are you still here? Alive, I mean?"_

_"...Yes."_

_"Then where were you?"_

Leia had wondered, then, and she had wondered _now;_ where was her father, all this time? Was he hiding with the rest of the remaining Jedi population? He claimed to not have known of her existence, but how could that _be?_

_(She had also wondered how Papa and Mama was involved in all this—how they could get ahold of a secret child of a forgotten Jedi and Senator; how she and Luke were separated, and why. She had so many questions, brimming in her thoughts, begging to be answered._

_Leia Organa did not like not knowing things—especially things regarding herself and her loved ones.)_

The springing headache that came with her questions were definitely _unpleasant,_ so she stored that thought away immediately, massaging her head as she did so. It could be asked for later, when The Man—her father, her _dad—_ graced her head with another one of his surprise contact. 

For now, she surfed through the results of the search, trying to find a picture of her parents together. She still hadn't gotten any when Han walked back in, placing his hand at her shoulder. "Your hair is only halfway done." He pointed out, dryly.

Leia blinked, only realizing the predicament now. "Shit," she was never really good at multitasking, after all—so she sighed, finally giving up on her quest and reached for her locks. "Give me five minutes." She said, as she got to work. 

Han hummed, his hand still on her shoulder. She looked up at him, slightly, finding his gaze fixated at the pair of people displayed on her holopad.

He didn't say anything. 

Instead when she was done, he extended his arms to her, slightly hauling her up as she once more fought the urge to topple down due to her still-weak legs. "Brought my blasters." He said, cheekily, patting his holster with his free hand. "Just like you asked, your Worship."

**_(beware child beware for the future beware for the change b e w a r e — )_ **

She smiled, putting on a brave face despite the twisting feel in her gut; "let's go."

* * *

_"I thought I told you to stay!"_

Luke winced at Ahsoka's sharp tone, as he kept his eyes glued to the vast space before him. "Yeah, there's a little problem with that; you see, I'm already at the Anoat System and—"

There was a loud groan from Ahsoka's end, _"I can't believe you, Luke!"_ She said, voice laced with exasperation. _"They're out here, all trying to get you—"_

"Well that's not exactly news, now, is it?" Said Luke, maneuvering through the idle asteroids. "I mean, with all the posters and bounty for my head, I thought we've established this by now—"

_"You're gonna get yourself killed, you know that? Oh Force, thank the Maker I don't have hair or else it'll turn as white as Rex's—"_

_"Hey!"_

Luke snorted, despite himself, at the escalating bicker on the other end of his comm. _[Twenty minutes into reaching Bespin's atmosphere,]_ announced Artoo, unfazed by the debacle happening through the freighter's loudspeaker. 

"Copy that, Artoo." Luke said, preparing the plane to enter the protective layers of the planet. 

_"Luke, this is serious."_ Ahsoka's voice piped up again, _"they could kill you; or worse."_ She said, her tone pleading. _"This isn't like that time with the Death Star, Luke. They all have eyes on you now."_

The fear so evident in her tone made Luke's smile softer, more empathetic despite her not being able to see it. "I know, 'Soka," he said, not impatiently. "But it's my sister and friends in there—hurting." He quieted down, his smile dissipating. "I can't just sit back and do _nothing."_

_"You don't even know if they're truly tortured, yet. All you have were some visions and a messed up mental connection with your sister—"_

“Well have you managed to get ahold of her?” 

_“...not yet, but—”_

“Then there’s no _but,”_ He countered, heatedly. "You know there's more to this, Ahsoka." Luke argued now, his brows furrowing. "You said it yourself; the Force gives premonitions of the future." He gulped—thinking about Han and Chewie and _Leia,_ out here in this planet, possibly arrested, incarcerated, _tortured_ by the hands of who-knows-who in this Forsaken planet. 

Everytime he closed his eyes, he kept seeing her face, slack-jawed and open as she screamed, visibly crying and _hurting._

"I can't let their pain be the future."

There was an angered noise coming from her end, decorated with huttese curses so broad and variative it was startling Luke. _"Force, you are so—like him!"_ Ahsoka's voice was shrill as she was audibly frustrated. Somehow, Luke didn't think that it was a compliment. _"The same stubbornness, the rash decisions, the fact that you both constantly make me lose my goddamn mind—it's uncanny, really!"_

She had said _him_ , though—and something in Luke ticked in pride, regardless, for being compared to the man that made him. "Thanks, 'Soka—" he said, cheekily, only to be replied with a string of more curses. 

_"Gah!"_ He could hear Ahsoka's voice distancing. _"That's it. I give up. Why did I think that it was a good idea to fret over a Skyling? Can't even fucking argue with their old man, should have wasted my energy on someone else…"_

Luke knew that those words were said in anger, but—his cheeky smile faltered. Hearing Ahsoka giving up on him—for whatever petty reason—had hurt. 

Just as he was about to end the comms, though, another voice—older and wiser, this time, piped up. _"Hey, Luke, it's Cap."_ And Rex's tone was far more even, more soothing. _"Please don't mind Ahsoka, she's just… worried."_ He sounded somber. _"We all are, Luke."_

_[Fifteen minutes before entering the atmosphere, Luke.]_

Sighing his affirmation to the Droid, Luke activated his atmospheric shields as he replied. "I know." He spoke to the comms. "But isn't it a little hypocritical to ban me from going here when you're heading to the exact same direction?"

 _"We're not the ones with a large bounty in our heads, or with an arrest order attached to our names, Luke."_ Rex patiently answered, like Luke was a petulant child and he the ever-kind parent. _“We are not the ones on the Empire’s top Wanted list.”_

Luke pressed his lips tight, seemingly at loss for rebuttals. Rex was right, but, "... it's my sister down there, Cap." He said, after a long silence. "The only family I got left and I could lose her if I don't do anything about it."

He kept on running through his memories with her; of the both of them, playing tag at the hangar, earning amused glances from the crews; of him learning to braid her hair, and of her learning to fix Artoo under his instructions; of them and Winter sleeping in a puppy pile until early noon, limbs tangled against one another like a pile of knots. 

They had been deprived of the childhood that they deserved; a childhood _together,_ and they only had such a little time together—not even three years. The prospect of losing her so soon ran chills down his spine.

On the other end, he could hear Rex sighing. _"I know."_ He said, not unkindly. _"And I know that nothing I say will ever change your mind on this, but—"_ he paused, and Luke felt like he was being looked at, inspected at. _"be careful out there, alright?"_

Artoo piped quietly, _[ten minutes.]_

"Copy that," Luke said to Artoo, focusing his eyesight to the front as he replied to Rex. "I'll try, Cap."

 _Do or do not,_ he could almost immediately hear Yoda commenting in his ominous tone, _there is no try._

There was a considerable amount of silence, as Luke focused on his navicomputers. He thought Rex had already disconnected the comms, until a voice piped up. 

_"Luke?"_

"Still here." Said Luke, immediately. 

_"I know it's odd for me to ask this but… the troopers."_ Rex sounded like he was hesitant. _"spare them, if you can."_ He seemed so sad, so somber and dejected when he said, _"Oftentimes—"_ he paused, _“they don’t really have a choice.”_

Luke’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion, for what was Rex doing, pleading on behalf of the enemy? He almost wanted to say, _everyone has a choice—_

(but then he remembered the slaves on Tatooine, forced to dance and fix and work and attack under the twin suns with little to no choice, the chips in their skulls ticking as timebombs. 

_Death or capture?_ They always ask—neither were options, yet those were the only ones they ever had.)

He held his tongue as he listened to Rex's urgency, the plea in his tone as it dropped to a near-whisper, and recognized the desperation when he heard one.

"Alright." Luke softly agreed. "I will." He checked his navicomputers. _Three minutes into the atmosphere,_ it said. "Gotta go, Cap; send my love to 'Soka and Winter." He said, hand ready to flick the comm off.

 _"We’ll get there soon, Luke; wait for us,"_ replied Rex. _"and… May the force be with you."_

Luke smiled, "and you, Cap." He said, befe shutting the connection. He turned to Artoo, then, exhaling a big breath. "You ready for this, Artoo?" He asked, grinning as he started to hit the gas. Artoo beeped his affirmation, and Luke _sped._

Flying, for Luke, had always been a second nature; almost like the times spent fixing and tinkering droids, or the times spent feeling the force flowing through his veins. The family name he had carried was truly apt, for the sky was where he felt most comfortable with. As he entered the atmosphere at high speed, Luke grinned—the thrill of flying had always gotten his spirits up. He maneuvered his planes, calculating how to create least friction while still descending at a fast rate. 

When he finally managed to penetrate the thick shields of the cloud planet’s atmosphere, Luke cheered, whilst Artoo wolf-whistled in his own Droid way. “Whew!” He said, grinning, turning back to see the obedient Astromech behind him. “The feeling never gets old, am I right, Buddy?” 

Artoo’s beeps paused, and when he finally replied with an affirmation the trills were quietened slightly, growing a little bit somber, as if Luke’s nickname for him somewhat reminded him of something else. _[Indeed,]_ it said. 

Luke felt like the Droid was about to say something else, but then there was an incoming transmission to his comms, and he picked it up. _“Aircraft,”_ greeted the foreign voice, _“please confirm your clearance codes.”_

A beat passed. Then two. 

“Shit.” Luke covered the microphone, looking back at Artoo with a tight expression. Leia was the one to usually strategize and plan—Luke was more of a ‘winging-it’ kind of guy, charging headfirst with little to no strategy. The downside of having this mentality was—well; a situation like this. “Artoo,” Luke hissed to his droid, “What do I do?” 

_[Use your Jedi coding!]_ beeped Artoo, excitedly. _[The one where you can alter organic unit’s programming!]_

“Use my—what?” Luke narrowed his eyes, whisper-exclaiming. “Artoo, are you telling me to mind-trick the navigator?” He looked at the Droid incredulously, thinking about that time when Ben had used the mind-trick in Tatooine before their subsequent escape from the vas sand-dunes, while he watched in part-awe and part-confusion. “I don’t even—that’s not—”

_“Sir, can you hear me? I need to know your clearance code.”_

_[Do you have any other options?]_ Artoo rebutted in return, his tone equally as strong, _[Implementing the coding is the only feasible choice!]_

“But we’re too far away! I don’t even know who’s speaking!” Luke protested. “There is no way I can—”

_“If you do not give me your clearance codes in five minutes, Sir, then we have no choice but to assume you’re a lethal threat.”_

Luke passed a tight look at Artoo, then at the idle comm at his plane, before closing his eyes, _thinking_ . Maybe Ahsoka was right; maybe Yoda was right—he wasn’t prepared for this at _all,_ and now for that he couldn’t even reach the land before he was blasted off the sky. He could feel his stomach tightening, his resolve and confidence slipping; so much for a _rescue mission,_ but—

_“Feel everything around you,” He could hear Master Yoda said, as he first gave up in the early stages of his lesson. “Part of you, the Force is.”_

He closed his eyes, feeling the remnants of the atmospheric burn on the body of his freighter, feeling the soft movements of the Bespin clouds, feeling the organics beneath him, their souls each a beacon of light interconnected by a thread—a thread that responded to _him._

_“Two minutes, sir; I’m going to have to alert the defenses—”_

“You don’t need—” Luke gulped, clearing his mind, tugging the strings of the Force, pleading for it to assist him, to let its power guide him to influence the fates around him, the minds facing him. “You don’t need my clearance code.” 

_“I don't—!”_ Replied the airnav officer, at first sounding like he was highly offended, and Luke sucked a sharp breath because _this isn’t working he’s gonna be so screwed—_ but then the officer halted, abruptly, as if it was stopped by someone, something, and— _“I don’t need your clearance code.”_

He sounded so calm, and void, and almost dazed—so in contrast with the pressing man just mere seconds before, and Luke exhaled, shakily. 

_It worked. He can't believe it—but it worked._

Luke regulated his breathing, trying to call for the calamity and guidance from the invisible threads as he continued, “You will not alert the defenses and you will let me land somewhere discreet.” He continued, firmer and more confident, feeling the Force flowing through him; bright and mischievous. 

_“I will not alert the defenses.”_ said the man, his tone flat and hollow, _“you may land on hangar 6728, on the northwest of the city. I will direct it to you.”_

“Thank you,” Luke thanked the man, intently listening to his hollow-toned explanation as he navigated through the city. The hangar was apparently a packed one, just right at the center of the city, where his plane was on the smaller side compared to the rest of the freighters. Judging from the other transports, and the objects carried in and out, it was most probably the cargo hangar. 

It took Luke quite a while until he was able to truly, freely breathe again—only after he managed to park his X-Wing, get down from the plane, jedi-mind-trick several prying officers and hid in a secluded corner with Artoo could he finally exhale. 

“That was—” he grinned now, slightly heaving from the leftover tension and adrenaline. “That was _epic.”_

 _[I told you using Jedi Programming works!]_ trilled Artoo proudly, his little claw clipping in triumph and pride. 

Luke grinned at the little Droid, “Well, now I know—” 

A shadow passed above him, momentarily blocking the bright twilight sun. He stopped whatever he was about to say to the Droid, instinctively looking up to see what it was—

And saw the underbelly of a _colossal ship,_ passing through the skies of Bespin. 

He could feel his gut dropping. His chest constricting, tightening. He’d never seen it _live,_ only in Imperial-tailored documentations and mission reports, but— 

Luke _knew_ that ship—could recognize it _everywhere._

_“We are not the ones on the Empire’s top Wanted list, Luke.”_

“Fuck,” he said, chuckling gingerly, feeling adrenaline-infused anxiety returning to his system as he stared at _The Executor_ , slowly creeping into the main landing port of the Cloud City. He could see as the massive transport slowly descended, unfolding its starwell so its passenger could pass through. Even from afar, he could see the spots of white walking down the stairs, led by a black-clad figure stepping their feet to the ground. They marched into the building, then, going out of his sight.

“They really do go all out for this, huh?” He turned to Artoo, giving what he hoped was a witty grin but in reality was probably a fearful, weak smile. “That thing is _way_ bigger than what they show on the holovids.” 

He was internally a _wreck,_ trying to recuperate from just _seeing_ the size of that _thing,_ and imagining the legion that was inside it. He ushered Artoo to the exit of the hangar, then, mind still frazzled, when another shock pierced through his mind; a surge of Force, irritated and annoyed and alive, unbridled in her wake—

 _Lei-Lei?!_ He almost yelled in their force connection, his fear temporarily replaced with excitement—and hope. _Are you okay?_

 _Force,_ he had _missed_ his sister so—he almost forgot just how _right_ her presence at the back of his head was. 

But Leia didn’t immediately reply; instead it felt like she was talking with someone else; maybe verbally, in the real world, with maybe Han and Chewbacca. Luke shifted in his stance, anxious at the growing silence despite his probing to Leia. _Midget, I know you can hear me—_

**_Call me Midget one more time, Lu, and I'll tell everyone here and at the base about that one time you asked me about how to untraceably access porn through the holopad._ **

Luke was so relieved that he finally, _finally_ got an answer from her, he almost missed the threat she spoke to him in reflex— _almost._ When it dawned on him, his giddy face slowly morphed into that of dreadful expression. _You wouldn’t,_ he said, feeling his cheeks turning pink at the prospect. 

He could feel Leia’s guilt at her outburst, immediately replacing the flare of frustration and annoyance she seemed to be emitting. **_Just—wait,_ ** she said, and Luke could imagine her, screwing her eyes shut as she tried to concentrate, **_Give me—_ **

And then she was abruptly stopping, like someone else had distracted her, and Luke immediately felt the flare too; strong and mighty and _familiar,_ somehow—the tug of the Force that was somewhat _Light_ but not _quite,_ like a brimming cloudy sky. It was—well-shielded and impatient, and it wasn’t directed at Luke. 

No—if his sister’s growing irritation and stress was anything to go by, it was directed at _her._

But Luke could still feel the echoes of its wielder’s emotions, anyway, the tension and the worry and the anxiety. He could even hear _words,_ murky and distorted but _there,_ demanding for an answer. 

Luke felt simultaneously excited and fearful at the prospect of this unknown Force presence probing Leia. _Hold on,_ he asked her again, and his tone felt both wary and hopeful at the same time, _Is someone else calling you?_ He paused, unsure, _Another Force user?_

Leia didn’t answer, and Luke’s anxiety slowly crept over his curiosity. _Lei,_ he called again after a significantly worrying amount of silence, _I need to know where are—_

**_Please—you're making my head hurt._ **

And then the connection was snapped shut, and Luke felt— _hurt,_ at being cut off like that, with no warning whatsoever; his force signature flaring in instinctual anger. 

(At the back of his mind, he wondered if this is how Leia had felt, when he had shut her off after their fight at Hoth.)

But his hurt was— _nothing,_ compared to the sudden surge of pure, unfiltered _fury_ suddenly dominating the Force. The Light that was not _quite_ now had turned fully Dark, like a sudden eclipse, vicious and menacing at its fury. 

Luke suddenly understood why the presence was distantly familiar; he’d felt it before—three years ago, as he was maneuvering his way through shooting the Death Star. 

_“Vader,”_

He didn’t even realize that he’d said the name out loud, his voice laced with fear and anger—and confusion. For what was _Vader_ doing, reaching out for his kriffing _sister?_

 _It didn’t matter,_ Luke realized, then—he didn’t need to know the reason; all that he needed to know was that Vader had known his sister; had specifically sought her through the Force; establishing a connection with her. 

_Vader was onto her._

(but still, something nagged on his mind, telling him he was overlooking something, skipping something, _missing something important—)_

“Vos.” Luke was cursing now, immediately running away from the hangar, desperately seeking Leia's Force presence. “Vos. _Vos.”_ He concentrated, following the feel of her signature in the threads that seemed to connect them—and instinctively snapped his head up to where he felt her presence radiated the most. 

“Of course _._ ” He said, in pure exasperation when he realized where she was; _of fucking course. He shouldn’t have expected anything different._

In a very classic Skywalker-Organa luck, she was at the building where the main landing port was directly connected to. Where the imperials were currently _at._

He viewed the distance between his place and her supposed place. “How do you think we can reach up there?” He whisper-asked his Droid as he eyed his surroundings for any means, _anything—_

 _[Steal a transport.]_ Artoo said, simply, matter-of-factly, as Luke’s eyes landed on the idle transports just hovering _there,_ at the parking lot near the hangar, unattended and for him to choose. _[You are a mechanic. You know how to jumpstart any of these machines.]_

“That’s unethical,” Said Luke, but he was already approaching one of the transport, a model he knew was relatively _fast,_ and pushed Artoo into the passenger seat before he hopped into its driver seat. It didn’t take long for the machine to start, a quiet hum that would lull Luke in satisfaction had it been any other situation. 

But now, Luke could care less, immediately hitting the pedal and steering the transport away from the parking lot. Dimly, he could hear someone—yelling, maybe? He wasn’t sure—and only hit the gas faster, maneuvering behind towering buildings to evade from most people while still aiming for his destination. “I’ll return it once we’re done,” Said Luke, sending Artoo a wary look. 

They both knew he wouldn’t follow through those words. 

It took him about fifteen minutes to reach the building, and that was probably the longest, most tense fifteen minutes of his _life._ He tried calling Leia, repeatedly, but she was irresponsive—quiet and shielding herself. Not too much that he couldn't feel her, but—enough to make him worry. 

_Come on, Lei, answer me._

Nothing.

_You made me promise to never ditch you again and now you're leaving me out, stone cold?!_

Still no reply—although there was a sparked irritation at her end, which he counted because he _had_ to, otherwise he'd go insane with worry.

Luke was so caught up in fretting over his sister that he almost missed Artoo's warning beeps. _[Luke!]_ The Droid said, its sound alarming, _[Luke, look up!]_

"Huh?" He narrowed his eyes, turning to Artoo in confusion and seeing its little claw pointing at the top of the building, at the brink of the hangar, where—

Stormtroopers. Of course there would be stormtroopers securing the perimeter of the building. Why should he hope for anything different?

 _[According to my observation, they all have disabling weapons.]_ Artoo supplied, its little lenses zooming in and out to the troopers as Luke lowered his transport, trying to hide beneath the shadows and structure of the behemoth building. 

Luke stared at the batons at their hips and the rifles at their hands, and muttered, "oh, they're disabling, alright," rather darkly, in return. He'd been on the receiving end of hot-iron bullets once; it was much more painful and messier—he'd take blaster wounds over them anytime. 

Which was perhaps the perfect reason why these troopers were armed with general rifles and batons instead of blasters. The Empire had been known to be quite the dramatic sadist, after all. 

“Artoo, can you scan the building?” He whisper-asked, still eyeing the barricade warily. “Find a blind-spot to land the speeder discreetly. I don’t want to cause a ruckus just yet.” He said, smirking himself as he said so. 

The Droid chirped its affirmation, immediately turning its dome-head and zooming its lenses as it got to work. _[Scanning completed; the only feasible entry to the building is through the landing port bridge,]_ he announced after what seemed like forever but in reality was perhaps only mere minutes, _[there is no feasible area to land the transport over or underneath aforementioned bridge. The closest hidden spot is about three floors below the hangar, near the iron structures.]_

“Kriff,” Luke had forgotten the last time he cursed this much. Had he always cursed this much? He didn’t know. Leia was still not answering him, which only made things worse on his ends. “Kriff, _kriff—”_

_Maybe Yoda was right, maybe Ben was right, maybe it was a grave mistake to come here when he wasn’t ready—_

_[However, there is enough gap for an average-sized being to discreetly pass through.]_ The Droid continued, unfazed by Luke’s strings of curse words. Its claw pointed up, where there was indeed a blind spot near the bridge that connected the hangar and the building, behind the haphazardly stacked crates and the rusty containers. Artoo was right; a singular human could pass through behind those objects and be obscured from the views of the troopers on guard. 

“It’s still three floors away, Artoo.” He said, squinting his eyes at the spot. “How are we going to reach—” he waved a hand to the general area, frustration evident in his tone. “Up there? _Fly?”_

Artoo trilled questioningly. _[Is there something wrong with flying?]_

Luke didn’t mean for his voice to pitch so high, or for himself to sound so whiny, but with the stress and the literal ticking clock situation, he couldn’t help it. “We don’t _have_ the means to fly!” He said, impatiently, “What are we going to do, shoulder a portable jet-thrusters and—”

That was when Luke finally, _finally_ caught up with what Artoo meant with flying. Turning his head sharply at the Astromech—the Astromech, which, like other Astromechs, were _designed_ with boosters in their system to carry them should they have to be ejected from their travel means—he exhaled and exhilarated breath. 

“If you want me to hop on your back and ride you, you should have just said so, Buddy.” Luke said, grinning, before wincing when he heard the words out loud. “Didn’t realize how grossly sexual that would have sounded. Sorry.” 

The Astromech simply trilled something akin to a laughing sound, as Luke parked the speeder firmly beneath the spot Artoo had showed him. _[Hop in,]_ the bot instructed and he gingerly obliged, hugging Artoo’s body with all his limbs, then—rather awkwardly.

“You sure this would— _argh!”_

He only hoped his startled yelp wasn’t carried by the wind or that the troopers’ helmets were a little too thick to hear it, as Artoo’s thrusters gleefully shot them across the sky. He sure would have looked downright ridiculous to anybody who might have looked up; a man holding on to dear life as the Droid beneath him boosted up rather excitably. He sure felt ridiculous—and scared to death of slipping off his Astromech before their supposed landing time. 

Bespin had tall buildings. He couldn’t even see the way down—to fall would surely be a rather painful way to go. 

Artoo only slowed down when they’d neared the haphazardly stacked crates, hovering just at a considerable distance between the solid surface of the building and the limitless sky. _[I cannot land steadily if you are still with me, Luke.]_ informed Artoo, then, _[you will have to jump.]_

There was something in his beeps, like… trust. Like Artoo believed that he could do it—like he’d seen someone else done it before, and believe Luke could pull off the same move. 

Luke gulped, fighting the feeling of his stiffening limbs. Even after so many brushes of near-death, the prospect of the free-falling to his demise still gave him chills on his spine. 

_[You can do it, Luke,]_ encouraged Artoo beneath him, _[Activate your Jedi programming like our previous obstacle.]_

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, emptying his mind—concentrating. 

_“Feel everything around you,”_

The breeze of the wind, so dizzyingly cold, the slightly smoke-tinted air, entering and exiting his lungs, and the bustle of people, of bright lights of _souls_ beneath him. He felt how they were all interconnected by a thread—a thread responding to his call. 

_“Part of you, the Force is.”_

_Help me,_ he silently pleaded, as he slowly unlatched himself from Artoo, taking a leap of faith—

(he could feel his body being pulled gently by an invisible string, and where gravity should have pulled him down it instead propped him up, pushed him gently just to get over the distance he had wanted and—)

—and landed.

Luke rolled over on the floor, drawing a shaky breath as his adrenaline-induced body grew giddy. He watched as Artoo slowly, quietly descended behind him, trilling in excitement. _[I told you so!]_ he said, rather smugly. 

“You sure have more faith in me than I have in myself, Buddy,” he said, and he couldn’t help reaching out to the Astromech, ruffling its dome-head affectionately. 

"What is that _noise?"_

Luke froze. So did Artoo. 

He immediately aligned his body behind one of the larger cargoes, heaving quietly as he took a peek at the stormtroopers closer to him, who was blindly turning their heads, left and right. "I heard a beep. Like the sound of a Droid." Said one of the troopers. Their stiff poses started to break as their attention turned to their fellow peers, and then their surroundings. 

"There's no Droid here," replied another trooper, this time their voice sounding faraway—perhaps they were stationed on the farther ends. 

"None that we could see," challenged another voice, and this one was— _different,_ somehow; it had more dignity to it, more dominance. "That does not mean we should not heed soldier Coric's senses." Luke peered over the crate, seeing one of the troopers bearing slightly different markings, walking to the soldiers at the perimeter. "Search the area, soldiers; we shall not fail our duties." 

"Sir, yes sir!"

"I'm running out of curse words to say." Said Luke, fuming as he ducked just in time when a trooper passed over the cargo he was hiding behind. He reviewed his surroundings, seeing that there was an opening near the archway leading to the building. He motioned wordlessly to Artoo do follow him, creeping under the shadows, praying that he wouldn't get caught. _He have to move quick,_ he thought, _it was just a matter of time before someone—_

"Mmph!"

 _"Ssh!"_ There was a hand, muffling him from behind as he was pressed to a rather large body. Luke's eyes widened; he would have known that voice everywhere. 

Still, he didn't think that a Wookie could speak so quietly, in such secrecy. 

Luke turned, seeing Chewie crouching behind him, his face etched with tense worry. “Chewie!” he whisper-exclaimed, relief seeping into his tone now that he finally got to see a familiar face after _so long_. “What are you doing here?”

The same could not be said for the Wookie. _“What are_ you _doing here?!”_ He echoed Luke’s question, _“I thought Leia told you to stay on wherever you are?”_ He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Luke sharply. 

Luke shifted, sheepishly, “Yeah, well—funny story; so Leia won’t answer my probes and Ahsoka can’t reach _any of you_ —” He stopped, looking at Chewie with narrowed eyes. “Why won’t you pick up your comms—?” 

“Did you hear that?”

 _“Vos.”_ Chewie cursed, immediately clamping Luke’s mouth shut once more as he pulled him to a more secluded part, much to Luke’s chagrin. _“Be quiet,”_ said Chewie as he finally released him, before he peered over the walls, looking at their surroundings suspiciously. 

It was only then did Luke realize C-3PO, firmly strapped against Chewie’s backs, with his legs installed improperly. His eyes were flashing, meaning that he was active, but there were no sounds coming from the Droid. 

_“Alright, they're clear,”_ Said Chewie, exhaling a relieved breath. 

Luke, for once, didn’t really give their impending danger much thought. “What happened to him?” He whispered harshly instead, hand motioning over the golden Droid. worry etched to his face as Threepio’s eyes flashed in what seemed to be as distress. Beside him, Artoo’s dome head spun in panic, his claw opening and closing as he approached his Droid companion. 

_“Got dismembered.”_ Gruffed Chewie. 

“How?!” 

_“Hell if I know. I found him boxed like a bunch of spare parts a couple of hours ago.”_ He grumbled, his growls low and cautious. _“Fucking Calrissian—I keep telling Han not to trust him; now look at this mess.”_

“Who’s Cal—” 

“—oh, thank goodness, Artoo! Finally, someone with enough sense to return my voice!”

Luke felt his stomach drop, his body growing cold from the sudden terror. Before him, he could also see Chewie’s face slowly morphing into horror and pure, unadulterated fear. 

“—have no idea what was going on, suddenly I am strapped at Master Chewbacca’s back, and I am unable to speak! And oh, have you seen how horrid our predicaments are? Stormtroopers everywhere, a nightmare, truly—” 

Slowly, oh so _slowly,_ Luke turned down to the blue Astromech, who was already on his way meddling with Threepio’s exposed wiring in his waist area, no doubt trying to shut him up once more. “Artoo,” whispered Luke, voice laced with morbid dread—and thinly veiled anger, “What did you _do?”_

(he could almost hear the Force singing a different tune; not quite Light now, as it chanted **_it would be so easy to crush him for his stupidity, dear boy, aren’t you tempted?_ ** Over and over again, like a mantra.)

 _[I was just—he was in distress and—I thought his coding was—]_ Trilled the Droid in panic, as he finally flicked the control up, rendering Threepio speechless once more. _[I didn’t mean to!]_

“Hands up, _rebel.”_

But the damage had been done. 

Something tugged within Luke’s already twisted gut as he looked up, facing the clones that stood so sure and ready before him. He _felt_ it before he saw it—the change in their demeanors, the increased rigidity in their stances, and—despite their helmet-covered-faces—the hardened stares suddenly zeroing on him.

“Luke... Skywalker?” One of them (presumably the Commander, considering his baritone voice) said his name in slow, somewhat stilted, confused realization; which should surprise Luke—all his wanted posters always called him _Red Five,_ after all—but didn’t. 

Instead, what really twisted the metaphorical knife planted in his gut was the tone the man had used next; eerily balanced and somewhat dazed, void of all emotions he possessed mere seconds before as he said, “Executing Order 72.” 

_("spare them, if you can.")_

_“What the fuck does that—”_ Chewie had began, but then he yelped, ducking just in time to evade the barrage of hot iron shots directed at him, aiming for the kill. There were no more times for words, for protests, for questions, it seemed; only to fight for their _lives._

As Luke unsheathed his lightsaber and blocked the first attack against him, then another, then _another,_ he could see why this particular group was called Vader’s Fist; their efficacy, their deadly offense, and the way they effortlessly made and break forms as they fought Luke and Chewie showed that they were unlike most troopers—far more in skills and competence, surely; and far more in bloodlust. 

_Or maybe not,_ Luke narrowed his eyes as he defended himself from yet another attack; there was something _odd_ about the way they attacked him—how different it was compared to the way they attacked Chewie and Artoo. 

As Luke took cover behind the crates, heaving, only to be then found and mauled once more, feeling the baton hitting his shin before he could fully get away, he realized one fundamental distinction; for Chewie and Artoo, they were aiming to kill. But for him—they were aiming to severely _maim,_ but never targeting anywhere vital, never risking the chance to fatally wound _him._

 _“Execute Order 72,”_ The Commander had said, in a glossed-up voice, like he was a rebooted Droid, ready for someone’s bidding. 

_("they don’t really have a choice.")_

_“We got too many of them!”_ Chewie roared from Force-knows-where—

(and oh, the Force, how it _sang,_ morbid yet lulling, **_the Light will not save you here, boy—look at them; so many in number, so strong in power._ **

**_You need me, boy; if you want your sister—_ **it whispered, wildly gleeful.)

_“With the rate they’re going, we can’t—”_

There was a gunshot. Then two. Then three. Then there were loud _thud_ sounds; sounds of bodies falling, hitting the ground as gravity fully claimed them. 

For a wild second, Luke’s head whipped to his left and right, madly looking for Chewie and Threepio and Artoo, a tight, cold fear clutching his chest on a death grip as his mind screamed, _not them, please, not them—_

**_(see, boy? How sorely you are tempted? Just take the fall, young one—)_ **

But Chewie and Artoo—despite being wounded and dented, respectively—were still standing; instead what Luke found were three clone troopers down, their backs smoking from what seemed to be as residual fire. 

He looked up to see a man in an Imperial uniform, bringing more men with imperial uniforms, with an imperial plane hovering near the hangar as his background. His eyes were determined as his blasters were raised. Luke flinched reflexively when the man turned his head sharply at him, scrunching his eyes shut and fully expecting to take the brunt of his upcoming shot—

“I’ll hold them off.” 

Luke opened his eyes. 

_What?_

“Skywalker!” Snapped the man—and who was he? His face was familiar; he’d seen him before, in the Alliance mission briefings. This man was an _important_ member of the Empire—causing Luke to blink, be brought to the present. “Run, now!” He said, gruffly, his eyes determined despite the tightness lacing his voice. “I’ll hold them off!” 

Luke hesitated; how could he not? This was a man dressed as the enemy, armed with his blaster ready to fire. There was no reason for him to trust anything he had said. 

And yet his eyes were genuine, if not quite fearful. And his balsters were aimed at the shocked troopers, not his friends. “I won’t ask again, Skywalker.” He reiterated, his voice having a slight edge to it. _“Run.”_

Luke spared a glance at Chewie, at Artoo, at Threepio. Chewie nodded, grimly.

_(“they don’t really have a choice.”)_

The fight was already resuming—but this time there were more reinforcement, more people on his side, on _their side,_ and Luke watched as an Imperial Officer fired the troopers without a second thought, a hesitation. 

_(“Executing Order 72.”)_

_(“they don’t really have a choice.”)_

(slaves of Tatooine, working despite their bleeding hands, dancing despite their tear-streaked face, killing despite the terror in their eyes, the twin suns a silent witness of how choices were a luxury to some—)

“Spare the troopers,” He said, voice only audible through the echoes of the building’s sleek dome walls, repeating Rex’s wishes. He turned before he could see the answer, already bolting inside the building, his mind chanting for _Leia, Leia, Leia—_

(had he turned a second later, perhaps he would have seen the dawning realization on the Imperial Man’s face, his eyes widening for a split second, like _oh._

_I see it.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the hardest one yet??? like maybe it's just the fact that i'm working on it through the peak of my thesis revision, maybe it's because my depression had been hitting on full-force for the better part of the week, maybe it's because i got a call from home telling me my mom was sick (she's better now though, so that's a relief) or maybe it's a little bit of all three. anyways—hope you enjoy???? thank u for supporting me this far, i truly love and cherish every single comment <3


	8. eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a Han bearing witness to the most awkward family dinner in the galaxy.

In hindsight, trusting a friend who he hadn't spoken in  _ years,  _ and whom, at the last time they interacted with one another, had been the victim of his latest trick on the sabacc table (other people called it cheats, but he would like to respectfully disagree—there was no art in cheating; trickery, however…) probably wasn't a good idea.

But really—considering the circumstances they were currently in (being a joined band of a rebel Princess General, a rogue smuggler, and an escaping slave fugitive from the Empire) he really didn't have that many people to trust. So really; what choice did he have? 

So far, the choice itself presented to be a good one; with Lando providing them sustenance, crews to fix the Falcon, and even healers to nurse Leia back to health. 

_ Leia.  _

Han looked at the woman beside him, who clutched his arm tightly as she marched forward, lips pressed tight, following Lando as he babbled about the structures and skyscapes of the city. She was as rigid as one could be every time their escortㅡwhich Lando insisted to provide, despite her continuous polite refusal and his less polite, more blunt onesㅡbrushed her sides in their movement. Her eyes were glued to her surroundings; the white-uniformed securities around them, the glass-walls of the tower, and, most often, the back of Lando, and Han could see her palpable distrust, so obvious and burning bright. 

(sometimes, in the height of their fights, or her verbal assasination to an incompetent member, Han found himself fearful of that pair of blazing flames, because he swore that he saw a flicker of sickening golden in her honey eyes at times, dancing and menacing, almost  _ threatening.)  _

“...and you can see how this city is well-crafted to not only follow the planet’s rather unique contour and condition, but also to appreciate its beautyㅡ” Lando turned, then, grinning a charming smile that was directed all to Leia, much to Han’s begrudgement. “Just like you, Princess; you do look like you belong with us among the clouds.” 

Rather possessively, Han unlatched Leia’s fingers gripping his arm, and instead used the now free hand to snake around her waist, still helping with her imbalanced steps but also  _ really  _ trying to show Lando his  _ place.  _

a bold move, reallyㅡconsidering he himself was still quite doubtful with where he stood. 

She was a Princess, a royalty, a respectable figure, and he was some no-good smuggler, always on the run, always overlooked. They were a match scorned by heaven, a pair doomed from the start. And wasn't the disparity one of the reasons why he had no other choice than to leave? 

(leave this Cloud City, leave the rebellion, leave her; because otherwise he would be left first, and he’d always been left first, deserted by everybody he’d ever had it in him toㅡ

Toㅡ)

Leia leaned closer to him, slightly startling him, and for a while Han’s sharp glare to Lando was momentarily replaced by a softened, more tender gaze directed for her eyes only. 

_ Honey meeting chocolate.  _

“Thank you, Mr. Calrissian,” He could hear Leia’s voice, so saccharine sweet it was unsettling, especially coming from her. “But I think I like my place closer to the ground.” 

“Ah, ever the joker,” Lando laughed politely, though Han was pretty sure that Leia wasn’t trying to joke, “and it’s just Lando, please, my dear Princess.” He countered, just as sweet but nowhere near as faux, nowhere near as sharp and  _ deadly _ . “After all, we state governors should be getting along quite nicely; so little know of the things we must do to keep our people up and running.”

Leia’s smile grew cold and tight, and Han only tightened his grip to her waist, his thumb making a soothing circular motion to her side. He could see the sudden onslaught of pain that was sledgehammered to her when Lando spoke of peopleㅡpeople she no longer had because it was taken from her, annihilated out of pride and greed of the Empire. 

She didn’t answer this time, only staring ahead like a determined loth wolf, ready to attack should there ever rise a need to be. The steel gaze on her eyes reminded Han just how rightfully she earned her other, lesser known, yet much more deadly title. 

_ General,  _ she wasㅡand one nobody should take lightly. 

“This is one awfully long walk you’re taking us,” Han took over the conversation, steering it to a different topic. “Is there a point to this, or are you just stallin’ for something, Lando?” He narrowed his eyes at Lando, his distrust growing bigger by the second. 

For a split second, he swore he saw Lando’s steps faltering, halting to a near stop, before resuming to a faster, hastened walk. “All good things come in their due time, my old friend,” Lando replied, ominously, but Han could see how his smile was more forced than charming, like the smiles he used to wear when he was losing at the gamble and had no plausible way to weasel himself out of it. 

“Hmph.” Snorted Han, exchanging a secretive glance with Leia, who looked as sour and skeptical as he felt. He wasn’t alone in this, at least. Leia winced, then, out of sudden, rubbing her forehead rigorously. She looked quite uncomfortable, if not outwardly pained, and Han was reminded of how pale she looked like before she woke up. “You okay?” He lowered his voice so only she could hear him, worry clearly etched to his voice. 

Leia raised a thumb up, perhaps trying to signal Han of her well-being without being verbal about it. But it still wasn’t enough to convince Han, to take the edging worry off his mind. 

_ (and what can you do, huh? What can you offer for help?  _

_ You aren’t like herㅡnot magical like her. Not important like her. You’re just a smuggler robbed into an accidental adventure ready to go because you’ve outlived your usefulness here. All you’re good for is to run.  _

_ So shoo, scram; you’re just a man she’d soon forget, after all.) _

"We just want to know where we're being led to, Mr. Calrissian," Leia interjected mildly, "surely you'd be very understanding, with the circumstances given to us."

Lando shook his head solemnly, his face grave with dramaticized grievances. "Ah, of course, Princess, how could I forget?" He said, giving Leia a sympathetic smile that felt just a little too  _ off.  _ "The reputation of your rebellion precedes you. I truly admire the causes you’re championing, Princess." 

Leia gave a less-faux, more-pleasantly surprised smile. “Why, thank you, Mr. Calrissian.” She said, a little more genuine this time. “It’s nice to know that we do have support for our fight.” 

Upon her words, Lando immediately waved a hand, almost harshly, in fact, as if he immediately wanted to disperse Leia’s claims. “Oh, I wouldn’t go too far to say that I’m a supporter.” He said, still with his good-natured tone, though a little more forceful, now. Han noticed that his eyes were immediately darting left and right, as if afraid that Leia’s remark could reach the ears of someone unwanted. 

Warily, Han palmed the blaster tightly strapped in his hip, ready to use it if needed. Three yearsㅡhe should have learned by now to trust her guts more than his own. 

“Still, it’s nice.” Leia compromised, her smile ever-present though tighter now. “Not many appreciate the fight we’re doing. The least I can do is to show my gratitude to those who do it.” 

Lando hummed, his eyes staring at her but not really looking. He led them to take a spinning stair to the lower level as he replied. “The fight, huh?” He glanced around, still, and Han’s hand was slowly settling on the handle of his blaster. “Do tell me though, Princess; is it worth it?" 

The question really made all three of themㅡand, subsequently, all of the men that acted as their guardsㅡpaused, one person looking to the other in an indescribable sight. “Beg your pardon?” Han watched as Leia blinkedㅡonce, twice, thrice. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Princess.” Lando added, quicklyㅡhastily, almost like he was starting to  _ panic,  _ and Han’s gut twisted in a way it used to when Shrike was drunk and angry and wanted to choose kids to vent it out to. “The ideas your alliance proposes are appealing, but the fight…” He trailed, pausingㅡhesitant. “Is it worth all the running, all the hiding? All the disgrace and death threats and bloodbaths?” 

Han could see the  _ exact  _ progression of how colors were slowly draining from Leia’s face, causing her already pale complexion growing white as a flimsi. "Someone has to take a stand for the rights of our people, Mr. Calrissian.” She answered, carefully. “As fellow state governors, I thought you'd share this sentiment." 

Thank the nine Corellian hells that Leia were well-versed with diplomatic training, because if it was up to Han he probably would have aggressively cornered Lando to clarify what the  _ hell  _ he meant by that sentence. 

Because he  _ saw;  _ saw how the question took a toll on Leia; how it stole her breath away, how it made her steps halt. Nobody,  _ nobody _ knew the scale of loss and devastation of war more than the pair of Princesses with no planet left to live. 

_ “See that dot, Han?”  _

_ He looked up abruptlyㅡtrying to cover the fact that he had been too mesmerized by her face for the past few secondsㅡfollowing the trail of her hand. She was pointing at the general northern area of the sky, where a rather large dot of light could be seen blinking.  _

_ “Yeah.” He affirmed, “The twinkling one, right? The one that’s just a little orange?”  _

_ Leia hummed, face growing wistful. She was facing the sky fully, now, eyes glued to that one little dot. “That’s… that’s the Alderaan System’s sun.” She said, softly.  _

_ There was no possible way for him to be prepared for that answer, so Han only said, “Oh,” rather dumbfoundedlyㅡtruly not knowing how to respond.  _

_ “If you squint just a little, you can see a dot on its right. That’s Alderaan.” She smiled, then her smile faltered, only to morph into something akin to sadness. “Was Alderaanㅡsorry.” She cleared her throat, and Han could see just a hint of wispy tears pooling at her lower lashline. “It reflectsㅡreflected,” She corrected herself; she kept having to correct herself. “the sun’s light, you see.”  _

_ Back when he was younger and still stayed in school, he remembered the science lesson that taught him how light moved; how it was the fastest thing in the universe, but it wasn’t infinitely fast. How sometimes the sky could be deceiving, because the lights of the present-day from galaxies far-away had yet to reach their sight, and so sometimes dead stars and destroyed planets appear to still shine bright in the skies they were observing. _

_ “I guess…” When she spoke next, her voice was a little thicker, a little more shaky, “the lights of their destruction has yet to get here, huh?”  _

"The choices we make for their freedom is never an easy oneㅡor priceless, for that matter." Leia’s voice, firm and steady, broke Han’s reverie, and he found himself squeezing her hand tighter, conveying as much support and assurance as he could. 

(His heartbeat quickening, knowing that there was something  _ else  _ in his gesture, something he  _ knew  _ but couldn't bear to name out loud.

Last time he had acknowledged it, the brunette he fell desperately to hadㅡwell.

Not that he would blame her for that; Han learned early on that everybody leaves, eventually.)

"Lando,” He then turned to his old friend, glaring at him rather obviously. He was never known for his tact, after all. “I'd shut up now if I were you." 

His hand was now fastened tightly around the handle of his blaster. 

Aforementioned old friend now turned his face at him, feigning a pleasant surprise at his thinly-veiled threat. "Now don't be so snide, Han, we were just reaching a mutual understanding." Lando said, giving Han a smile that looked more like a smirkㅡor a grimace. "For we all want peace for our people, at any cost, do we not?" He turned to Leia, then, and his facade faltered a little bit. 

For a split second, Han was almost reminded of the face Lando used to make, all those years ago, when they were just young smugglers trying to make a living. 

The face Lando made… if Han didn’t know him better, he would have guessed that it was his begging face, one he wore when he was silently asking for help.

_ But did he? _

_ Did he know better? _

"Of course, Mr. Calrissian." Leia answered, as they slowly resumed their steps. 

Lando exhaled, giving Leia an apologetic smile. "Then you'll understand, hopefully." He said, rather quietly. Han noticed how the bravado he had previously put up now dimmed, replaced by something akin to…

_ Genuine regret?  _

"understand  _ what?"  _ He snapped, interjecting himself to the conversation once more as he pulled his blaster away from its holster, putting it on his side, ready to use. 

They were approaching a large door now, and Lando pushed the handles open. "that much like you, this decisionㅡ" he said, revealing what was inside. "ㅡis for my people." 

Han was kriffing  _ thankful  _ that Leia had a sense to suggest him bringing a blaster, and that he himself had the sense to listen to her. 

Because that was fucking  _ Darth Vader,  _ sitting at the head of the table.

Thinking was never really his strong suit, so in a knee-jerk reflex, he simply  _ acted;  _ raised his gun straight to the line of the Imp's face, and  _ firedㅡ _ repetitiously, without a stop.

Vaderㅡthat cyborg, that death machineㅡdeflected every single one of his shots, and instead stood up, swiping away the blaster from his grip. For a split second, Han saw how his masked face was slightly tilted down, as if looking at something, so he followed Vader's line of sight and found that it was roughly zeroed to his linked hand with Leia. 

_ What? _

And then suddenlyㅡsuddenly he was suspended mid-air, his feet lifted from the ground and their linked arms breaking as he used his to clamor away the invisible hands choking the life out of his throat. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Vader was standing up, hand raised, his masked face facing him. Even if Han couldn’t see the man beneath the mask, he had a nagging feeling that whoever Vader was, he was currently glaring  _ daggers  _ at him. 

Beside him, he could dimly hear a shout of his name, and in his growingly blurry eyesight, could catch Leia's silhouette raising a blaster of her ownㅡaimed towards Vader. 

"Let him go," she said, voice shaky yet  _ strong.  _ "Let him go,  _ now."  _

Oddly, despite the dire circumstances and the growing need of air to his lungs, Han was instead reminded of his conversation with Chewie back at the Falcon, before all this madness ensued. 

_ "You definitely have a type." Announced Chewie out of the blue.  _

_ All of his concentration to ponder on his next move quickly dissipated, as he whipped his head at Chewie's direction in surprise. "Iㅡwhat?" He asked, confusion addling his tone. _

_ "A type." Chewie snorted, leaning to the recliner behind him. "you definitely have 'em."  _

_ "Iㅡ" Han spluttered, "I do not!" _

_ Chewie purred, then, "then you don't like bossy brunettes who know how to handle her shit?"  _

Vader dropped Han, then, whisking him off his reverie and leaving him gasping for breath, coughing and spluttering in a rather undignified manner. “Han!” He could hear Leia exclaiming, her cold tone quickly dropped as she reached for him, hands on his shoulders. “Han, you okay?” 

He took several deep breaths, savoring the feeling of oxygen entering and exiting his lungs. Life felt a little more valuable after occurrences like this. “I’m fine.” He wheezed, word barely getting out, giving her his signature scruffy smile, though he had an inclination that it looked more like a grimace than anything else, given the circumstances. 

“You said you wouldn’t harm them!” He could hear a protesting voice, and whipped his head up to see  _ Lando,  _ face white as sheet. “You said this would be a  _ civil arrest!”  _

That fucking manㅡhe sold them out and still had the gall to pretend that he  _ cared  _ about them? He wanted to curse him in all of the languages he knew, but his throat was still burning, and he could barely take a breath without wincing in pain. 

Instead, the person who answered him was fucking  _ Vader,  _ still standing in his spot but finally looking away from him, from  _ Leia.  _ “I reserve the right to alter my deals, Governor Calrissian.” He said, his modulated, mechanical voice echoing throughout the dining room, sending chills to Han’s spine. “Pray that I do not alter it once more.” 

Lando opened his mouth, but then he was spluttering instead of speaking, and suddenly he was thrown out of the room  _ violently;  _ as if shoved by an invisibly strong hand. Han glanced at the man, parts of his anger dissipating upon seeing the man wincing in pain, clutching his arm as he did so. 

The observation was short-lived, however; as the doors of the room closed down with a loud  _ bang,  _ Han felt hands hauling him up rather harshly, mindless to the possibilities that he might retain some sort of injuries from Vader mauling him earlier. He looked up to see Fettㅡthe Boba Fett, staring ahead, not even looking at him as they handled himㅡlike he was just some lifeless cargo exchangeable for goods.

Maybe for Fett, he was.

"You're with him, now?" Han asked, incredulously. "And I thought that working for Jabba was already a low point." He spat at him, trying to gauge the hunter so he'd be as angry as Han felt at the moment. 

Only  _ then  _ did Fett look at him, pulling a tuft of hair from his head to forcefully tilt his head up, meeting his helmet-encased face. "The only thing keeping you alive right now, Mr. Solo, are my employers' well wishes." He said, "and even then they are compensableㅡnegotiable; your life isn’t  _ that  _ precious, you know.” He yanked Han’s hair some more, trying to prove a point Han had understood  _ clearly _ , “so be  _ nice,  _ if you still want to keep yourself  _ intact." _

Next thing Han knew, he was shoved to his seat rather harshly, and it took all of his might to not groan in the sharp jab of pain that followed from the unceremonious crash to the chair. His solace was that at least Leiaㅡwho were handled by stormtroopers expertly snatching away her blaster from her tight grip before she could do anything dangerous with itㅡwas treated marginally better,  _ gentler. _

(Were the Empire even capable of being  _ gentle?)  _

Still, she looked deathly pale, and when he took her hand to his, it was shaking. Her eyes continuously darted between his neck and his eyes, and then every time she caught the sight of Vader she would tense up, her hand clutching his in a bone-crushing grip. 

For once, Han was witnessing Leia pressing her lips tight, then opening it, then pressing it tight again. For once, he found Leia Organa being at loss for words. 

And not in a good way. 

Clearing his throatㅡand inadvertently wincing at the pain that followed the movementㅡHan took over. "If you think you can get anything out of us, Vader," He growled to Vader, his voice still stiff and raspy, "then you're in for aㅡ"

He didn't continueㅡcouldn't, really; because something,  _ someone,  _ was snipping his mouth together, pinching his lips shut with such a tight clutch it pained him. "I would not open my mouth to run on empty threats, if I were you _."  _ He whipped his head to see Vader, the man's modulated voice ringing eerily in his ears. "It is unwise to promise something that you cannot deliver." 

Han blinked. He didn't know that a Sith Lord understood sassㅡmuch less was able to use them. 

Next to him, he felt Leia clutching his hand tighter. "Like how you failed to fulfill your part with Mr. Calrissian just now?" She quipped, finally finding her voiceㅡand wit, it seemed, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Yet then Han took one look at her, and felt his gut drop to a bottomless pit; to an untrained eye, she might look flawlessly brave and strong, butㅡ

But.

All the little signs were thereㅡthe tenseness in her posture, the unnaturally straightened back. Her lips, pressed tight shut every single time she was done speaking like she was immediately aware of the repercussions she could suffer with just one wrong word. And her eyes. 

Her honey eyes, refusing to even spare a glance at Vader, and instead took the sight of the wall on the far-end, near where Fett was standing. To other people, it might seem like an act of defiance, an act of challenge.

But Han could identify pure fear when he saw oneㅡand Leia was  _ afraid;  _ purely, unbridledly afraid. So much that she couldn't even see her opponent in the eyeㅡor in where his eyes were supposed to be.

_ "Stop it," he heard her mumble in her sleep as he was about to cover her body with the Falcon's makeshift blanket. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her lips trembled as she whimpered to the ghosts of her nightmares, "Stop it, pleaseㅡ"  _

Something about the realization of that fact made his insides curl up with  _ dread. _

"Princess Leia." Vader’s muffled, modulate voice startled Han, ripping him off from his observation. "I am glad to see you well." He sounded as flat and menacing as ever, and yet there was something in his  _ tone… _

(Was it  _ genuinity?)  _

Leia seemed to be as taken aback as he was feeling, composing herself with a couple of blinks. Han could almost see the gears inside her mind grinding up, moving, working,  _ analyzing. _ The line of her pursed lips growing impossibly  _ thinner.  _

She looked like she was at loss at what to do, facing a Vader that seemed to be  _ interested  _ in her.

He took over answering, then, feeling that his lips had beenㅡperhaps unconsciouslyㅡunscrewed. "Yeah, no thanks to you." He grumbled, still wincing at how speaking affected his sore throat. He could feel more than see Leia sharply turning her eyes at him, but this time he made a point by looking at Vader instead, straight at the eyeholes of the man's mask. "Fact; she wouldn't have gotten injured have your goons not chased us to the literal brink of the fucking universeㅡmmph!" 

Vader was now returning his attention to Han once more, his  _ sshh-sshh-sshh _ laboring and quick. The man was  _ livid,  _ Han realized then; he, a lowlife smuggler from a rotten world, had made the most powerful man in the galaxy  _ angryㅡtwice. _

As he spluttered and choked, feeling his neck being squeezed once more, he didn't know how he should feel about  _ that.  _

"You are on a very thin ice right now, Mister Solo." Hissed Vader, his words coming out slowly, as if they were drawled to make sure the slow delivery seared the message to Han's mind loud and clear. "I grow tired of your squabbles. Be mindful that I can snap your neck whenever I  _ please."  _

_ “Han!”  _ Leia’s panicked voice barely registered to his growingly murky mind, her hand unlatched from his and now moved to hold Han by the arm, trying to hoist him uptight as he unceremoniously slumped, groaning from the lack of air. “Let him go, let him  _ go!” _

Her voice was magic, it seemed; her words and instant command to Vader as the man immediately released Han's throat once more. 

Leia didn't even have to _beg._

As he took a deep breath, he could feel Leia pressing herself closer to him, glaring at him with the sharpest look she could muster. She was tiny, a full head and a half shorter than him, and yet in that moment her stare shrunk Han, judging him in what seemed to be a  _ ‘do you have a death wish, Nerf-herder?!  _ look.

In return he simply gave her a weak grin. Maybe it was a suicidal decision, but he didn't regret coming to her aid, suffering the consequences of defying the Emperor's hand at her place. 

(She was hisㅡhis  _ something,  _ after all. And for Han Solo, that was more than enough to warrant all the care he had in the world.)

Her hand lifted up, first tracing his throatㅡfeatherlight touches, to make sure that he was still intact even after the repetitious abuseㅡthen  _ hers.  _

_ A trembling body. A whimpering voice. A girl, with nightmares ready to haunt her even in broad daylight.  _

_ "Stop it; stop it, pleaseㅡ"  _

“It seems that you haven’t grown out of your habit of choking your conversation partner when they prove to be difficult.” Leia didn’t break eye contact with Han as she spoke again after a long pause, her tone clipped and her body rigid. "I should have not expected better of you."

Her refusal to look at Vader was now downright visible, if not slightly insulting, given the circumstances and paired with her dry, sharp words. 

And true to the circumstances, Vader did grow tense at her comment, leaning to the table, arms open as his entire armored body now fully facing her. 

"Lai-yahㅡ" Vader spoke again, now, his modulated voice now soundingㅡodd, like it was strained and thick yet softer, somehow. And he said Leia's name with such an  _ odd  _ pronunciation, something that sounded foreign yet familiar. "I did not mean toㅡto pose harm to  _ you." _

It took Han longer than he would admit to himself to realize that Vader said Leia's name the way Luke used to say it. 

And what did  _ that _ imply? 

The Princess at the center of the man's attention, meanwhile, had snorted; a rather knee-jerk reaction, most likely, given the lack of levity in the situation. "And I find that hard to believe." She said, stubbornly glaring at the wall behind Vader and Fett. "Besides; intention matters not if the results continue to show otherwise, Lord Vader."

There were little creaks of noises, like something fragile fracturing, and Han  _ swore  _ he saw fine lines on the window behind Vader that weren't there before.

Several tense seconds of silence passed, with Vader staring at Leia and Leia looking at the walls and glass and anywhere else but him and Han switching his glance at the both of them, like an anticipating audience in the middle of a deadly badminton match. 

_ who would slip firstㅡbreak first?  _

"...I heard you have not been conscious for two days." 

Apparently it was Vader, continuing to attempt a conversation with the contemptuous Princess beside him. Han could see from his peripheral, how Vader's hand clenched and unclenched, like he was trying to grasp purchase in the empty air. "I heardㅡ" he continued, and his modulator made an odd soundㅡalmost like a strangled voice; croaky even from all the artificial notes added to itㅡwhen he stopped speaking so abruptly. "I heard that you were severely injured." 

Leia narrowed her eyes, now actually sparing a slight glance at Vader, though still seemingly not looking at him on the face. "Yes." She affirmed, "Though I fail to understand theㅡ"

"Please eat." 

A blink. Then two. Then three. 

There was a crashing sound outside, and a flurry of voices entangled and topped over one another he couldn’t make out any of the sound, but Han didn’t turn to see what it was. Instead he glanced at Leia, inadvertently exchanging looks, confusion and whiplash lacing their brown eyes because, uh,  _ "what?" _

Did Vader just ask Leiaㅡnot command, but  _ ask,  _ and  _ boy  _ even that realization alone came with its own set of nuanceㅡto...

"Eat." Vader affirmed, somehow sounding  _ patient,  _ which was a surprise of its own, "you need your strength." He waved a hand to the general area of the arrays of meals on the table before them. "Something soft and light would be best for a meal opener after a period of abstinence from food."

When Han first entered the room and saw Vader at the head of the table, he had a general idea of where this meeting could go; but so far, his prediction had been proven incorrect; for this encounterㅡan encounter between the Empire’s Supreme Commander and the Alliance’s Generalㅡwas extremely  _ tame,  _ even for Vader’s notorious standard.

He felt his forehead creasing from all the confused frowning, because things were getting even more odd by the  _ second.  _

Outside, the faint crashing sound only grew, more frequent and more intense. Han had an inclination that despite the seemingly more chaotic nature, whatever was happening outside held no cake to the tension going on  _ here.  _

"Sorry, I'm justㅡ" Leia piped up, her eyebrows furrowed so deep it formed a deep v shape to her face. She was closing her eyes, head slightly shaking as if she could process the information and its possible implications faster if she did so. “Is this a joke?”

Vaderㅡcould Imperial cyborgs even  _ snort?ㅡ _ at that, “of course  _ not,”  _ he answered, his mechanical voice  _ indignant.  _ Come to think of it, this was the most animated Han had ever seen the Manㅡ _ ever.  _ His stoicity and nonchalant violence seemed to ebb away whenever he was facing…

Han turned to the Princess next to him, whose eyes were now finally open and facing Vader,  _ fully,  _ albeit laced with something akin to fear and  _ anguish _ for the first time since the meeting. 

_ Her.  _

"This is a  _ dinner,  _ is it not?" Vader continued, adopting a more challenging tone, and  _ why did that remind Han of Leia’s penchant for sticking her neck out at the face of troubling negotiations?  _

Leia blanched, mouth slightly agape in a gesture that was supposed to be undignifying but somehow  _ wasn’t _ . For several seconds there was only silence, Fett and Han the tense spectator of this verbal match while Vader was waiting for Leia to make her move. It took her quite longer than usual to regain composure, but when she spoke again her voice was pitched a bitㅡa sign that she was in a budding  _ distress. _ “with you, one can never truly know!” she all but sharply stated, "after all, we know well enough just how fond you are of altering things, situations,  _ deals."  _ She waved a hand to the closed door, and Han wondered how Lando was faring, out there, with the continuous loud noises that seemed to only grow by the second, "You say it's dinner to us, a civil arrest to our allies, and, oh, who knows?" She snidely sneered, switching her glare at Fett. "Maybe you told your precious little assassin that this was a  _ mission."  _

The referred assassin twitched on his stance, like a tense, irritable pet ready to pounce. Vader didn't seem to notice, though; instead, all of his body was turned at Leia, giving her his undivided attention like she was the only important person in this room. 

His modulator made a strange noise, like a crossroad between shock and anguish, like her suggestion had personally _pained_ himㅡand not his _ego_ , because he didn’t sound insulted, but his _heart;_ Vader, the man whoㅡfor his carelessly murderous habitㅡhad been assumed to not even have _any._

"...I will not,” Vader replied, after a beat of tense pause, “alter anything against you,  _ Lai-yah _ ."

Han was surprised of how much could a modulated voice convey  _ sincerity.  _

Leia heard it too, it seemed, because she was looking away, her tense posture shifting awkwardly. She looked at the dish before her, at the room around her, at anywhere  _ else  _ but the masked man in an armor before her as she spoke, "Please stop addressing me with such informalities." Her voice was thin, her emotions very clearly restrained at bay, ready to fall off if not for the impeccable control she had possessed. "We are barely acquaintances, after all; to do so is very unbecoming of you."

Vader took a deep breath at that, the _sshh-sshh-sshh_ from his respirator echoing through the pristine white walls of Lando’s dining hall. "Barely acquaintances, yes." He acknowledged, and how could he sound so _dejected_ at _that?_ "But we could be _more_ ㅡstarting with this dinner," 

His choice of words were odd. He sounded awkward. And confused. Those two emotions Han could definitely relate to, because he was feeling it himself right  _ now.  _

Was the man trying to  _ flirt  _ with the figurehead of the  _ rebellion?  _

_ No,  _ Han immediately answered,  _ no;  _ and this, he was sureㅡnot out of self-preservation or outright denial, but because he didn’t pick up anything amorous from the man. Not in  _ that  _ sense, at least. 

If anything, his words, his behavior, his almost too-sincere mechanical voice… all that mixed up together almost made it seem like he was…  _ yearning,  _ for her; like a regretful man pleading for a second chance.

_ (but what chance was he asking for? And why was he asking it from  _ Leia _ , of all people?) _

Another crash again. Another yell. Leia and Vader didn’t budgeㅡheck, they didn’t even seem to  _ realize.  _

"I heard that Shuura fruit juice is part of your favorite.” Vader said, when Leia didn’t respond to his words, “I have requested for it to be made." 

Now to this, Leia had replied. And this time she didn’t sound snide, or degrading, or nonchalant. This time, she sounded downright furious, downright  _ angered.  _

"Anything is hardly a favorite of mine if it is requested by you." 

Han heard it againㅡthe faint crackling originating from Force-knows-where. He took her hand, putting circular motions as he squeezed it lightly, trying to get her attention. "Lei, heyㅡ"

But Leia didn’t heed him. "After all you wanted nothing more than my head served on a silver platter all these years, with the bounty and allㅡ"

_ Crack. Crack. Crack.  _

"Your Worship, I don't thinkㅡ"

"So how can I know for sure that none of these foods are poisoned or intoxicated? For all I know, this is a ploy; a trap to kill us, or maybe just meㅡ"

There was a loud _crash,_ maddeningly thunderous, causing Leia to yelp in surprise and clutch Han's hand impossibly tighter. Han himself was gaping, reeling in shock as he blinked once, twice, thrice. 

_ This had to be a trick this had to be a joke there was no kriffing  _ wayㅡ

But  _ no;  _ His eyes were  _ not _ playing tricks at him; The stained glass behind Vader really did  _ shatter;  _ tiny little pieces crumbling apart, claimed by gravity. There were glass shards flying around, some even got to where Fett stood, causing the man to flinch, ever so slightly. 

The glass had  _ broken.  _ Not even a single touch, a single command, a single  _ look,  _ and it still had  _ broken.  _

Vader made it  _ broken.  _

Said man in question was immoveable, even with the raining sharp shards around him, and the loud, harsh wind that came into the room now that there were no longer barriers holding them back. "Not you." Han swore Vader was  _ hissing,  _ his voice modulator sounding low and dangerous.  _ "Never  _ you." 

The funniest thing of all this was; while it sounded like a threat, for once Han was almost sure that Vader was making  _ none.  _ Instead, he had an inclination that Vader's words were closer to… almost a  _ plea.  _ In fact, throughout this entire interaction, when it came to Leia, Vader was almost… fervent. Attentive.

If Han didn't know any better, he'd even dare to say that Vader was  _ affectionate  _ to her. 

He turned his face to Leia, looking at her pressing her lips tight, eyes looking at Vader's direction but not  _ him  _ directly. From her slightly glazed gaze, it seemed that she was determined to look at the wall behind the cyborg rather than his masked face.

Several beats of silence passed. It seemed to be a recurring theme with this so-called-dinner. 

"Eat, Princess." Was all Vader finally said, and, as if on cue, a bowl filled with deliciously scented porridge and a juice of Shuura fruit were moving on their own accords at Leia's direction. 

Han had never seen Leia look so paleㅡor tense. She didn't move a muscle, her grip to his hand remaining tight as ever that he was barely able to hold himself wincing from the pain. The woman justㅡput her forehead in her palm, looking very visibly distressed, eyes opening and closing. He had a feeling that she was trying to figure out what the kriffing  _ hell  _ was going on. 

Not that Han would blame her. He too, would like to have some enlightenment. 

But all he got were further  _ confusion,  _ because in the next second the door behind them was forcefully opened, and before it wasㅡ

_ “Lando?”  _

“Calrissian,” Vader stood up, monstrously tall and menacing once more, and Han could feel the temperature of the room dropping low. Gone was the odd man trying to strike a conversation while simultaneously attempting to make his enemy  _ eat,  _ somewhy, and in his place stood once more the cyborg  _ monster _ parents told their children to fear. “I thought the deal was for us to be left  _ alone.”  _

The Bespin Governor clocked his weapon, readying it for fire. Behind him stood lines of men and women in uniform, assuming ready position, aiding him. “Well if you can alter the deal whenever you please,  _ Lord Vader,”  _ he sneered at the mention of Vader’s name, his tone clipped and  _ sharp.  _ “Then I figured that I should reserve the same rights. After all,” He tilted his head slightly, giving Vader what seemed to be an anxiously determined smile, “we are equal partners, are we not?” He nudged at Vader’s direction using his blaster, suggesting him of the threats he could pull under his sleeve. 

Vader hissed, hand raised in warning. “I might be one man, Calrissian,” He said, “but do not forget but my power outweighs your poor excuse of an army.” 

“Ah, yes, an army.” Lando said, still adopting that lax tone as if they were talking about the weatherㅡlike he didn’t just sell Han and Leia out, like he wasn’t just ousted from the room mid-choking, like he wasn’t pointing his blaster at arguably the most dangerous man  _ aliveㅡ _ “speaking of which; do tell  _ yours  _ to stand  _ down.”  _

As if on cue, more loud noises emerged, distant yet no less dire. Lando winced at that, but his arms remained steady and his blaster firmly pointed. 

Vader did not make a move in where he stood, didn't even tilt a head or raise an arm as he said, "I do not know what you're talking about." 

_ "Liar,"  _ hissed Lando, "your  _ men  _ had been attacking my city, my people not long after you entered this fucking room!" He exclaimed, "you said that you would guarantee our safety, you said that you wouldn't harm my citizensㅡ"

"I did not  _ command _ them to do  _ anythingㅡ" _ Vader growled, his voice dropping dangerously, a telltale sign of his impending  _ menace.  _

“Well then you can  _ command _ them to stand down now _ ㅡ”  _

“If you point that weapon to me another second, Calrissian, thenㅡ” 

“And tell them,” Lando continued, unfazed by Vader’s threat, “that we don’t have  _ anyone  _ named  _ Skywalker  _ here."

Han and Leia tensed at the mention of the name. In fact, everyone in the room seemed to be frozen at the reference. 

There was only one Skywalker that they knew. Only one most probably deemed worthy enough to have an entire Imperial Stormtrooper squadron hunt him down. 

_ Luke.  _

It was Vader who broke the silence, voice aghast as he asked Lando, “What did you  _ say?” _

Upon hearing his mechanical voice, Leia snapped out of her reverie, scrunching up her face with so much palpable distaste, mixed with panic and  _ anger.  _ “That little  _ shit.”  _ She hissed, her voice so low it was a barely audible whisper. “No wonder he’d beenㅡI told him to not  _ come back yet!”  _

“Well, I can’t put it past him, Princess,” Han groused, only half-sour. His voice was comparably louder than Leia’s when he spoke, “Not following orders seems to be a recurring theme with your family.” 

If he was being completely honest to her, he was surprised that it had taken Luke this strong to stay  _ put.  _

At this, Vader whipped his head at the pair of them, and it was so  _ comical,  _ how sharp and urgent his movements were, almost matching his entire cyborg persona.  _ “What did you say?”  _

Lando, too, had turned at Han's voice. "This Skywalkerㅡhe one of yours?" He lowered his blaster slightly, narrowing his eyes at Han. 

_ Shit. Shit. Now everyone was looking at him.  _

"I don't gotta tell you anything."

"My people are being  _ harassed  _ because they are looking for  _ him _ , Hanㅡ"

"And you  _ sold  _ us to the Empire, so stop acting so kriffing  _ noble _ , Calrissian!" 

"Whoㅡ" Vader bellowed, his deep voiceㅡand  _ moreㅡ _ rumbling the room with its sheer will. He sounded… agitated. On edge. Suddenly desperate. "ㅡis this  _ Skywalker?"  _

All eyes were looking at Han, expecting him to answer. He glanced at Leia, watching her face white as a flimsi, her hand over his clutching his fingers tight. She looked tense as ever, like a loth-wolf at the ends of its wits, but.

But.

He caught her movement, ever so slightly; caught how her left hand slid quietly, discreetly, delving lower, lower to her leg. He glanced down, trying to do so with as much tact as possible, and found that her right feet was folded up under the table, her pointy heelㅡ

_ Her pointy heel. _

He realized it almost as quick as when she made eye contact with him, honey eyes lit in mischief and thrill, despite the tension that never really left those orbs. Quickly, the his view of his surroundings sharpened, and he started taking in  _ everything; _

_ The opened door. The sidetracked guards. The hassled Crime Lord. The shift of attention from themㅡfrom  _ her. 

_ Her kriffing pointy heel.  _

She looked at him with all the wit and determination in the world, tilting her head slightly, so slightly to  _ signal  _ him and  _ Force, _ he was fucking whipped for this woman. __

"Just like I told Calrissian,  _ Lord Vader," _ Han drawled, watching as Leia straightened herself,  _ "I don't gotta tell youㅡ" _ he paused, making sure that the woman next to him was  _ ready. "Anything."  _

And they might not have any force bond, might not be able to do telepathy, but a meaningful glance was all that it took for her to know that it was her  _ cue.  _

Leia's movement was  _ graceles;  _ she didn't fight like she was dancing, noㅡshe attacked  _ viciously,  _ with no regards nor regrets as she turned so sharply from her seat, using the heel at her hand to penetrate a weak, uncovered point near the trooper's  _ neck.  _

The shock and surprise from her actions alone made The Imperial Lord and the Bespin Governor into stunned silence, and spurred Han into action; standing up before Leia's victim was hitting the ground, shoe jutting from his throat. He elbowed his own guard trooper, satisfied to find him off-balance with just one punch, and wrestled his gun from his grip. 

It all was chaos after that.

He didn't know who fired firstㅡcould be Lando, could be Fett, could be the troopers, heck it could be  _ himㅡ _ but suddenly the room was filled with flying ammunitions, left and right to any and every direction. Han watched as bullets and blaster shots drove past him, barely able to avoid some of them as he fired back; some to Lando's directions out of spite, but mostly to the troopers and  _ Vader.  _

There were shots grazing his body, some shards of glass hitting his face, and the wounds  _ stung _ , aching his body all over, but he had never felt more  _ alive.  _

Leia herself was shooting the shots, hands steady and firm as she fired bullets upon bullets to anybody who attacked them. She was resourceful; when the troopers were in close proximity, she opted to instead yank off their helmet before punching them in the face, cutting the needs to constantly use the limited bullets at her aid. She used her nails to rake marks on their skins she exposed, tore her flowing vest to choke one of the assailants, and used her other high heel to whack one of Lando's men who dared to grab her on the head. 

_ "then you don't like bossy brunettes who know how to handle their shit?" _

Her hairstyleㅡa neat braid looped together into an intricate, shapely bunㅡwas disheveled, her face flushed from the tension, and her eyes narrowed in concentration. She had a grazed cauterized wound on her arm and a scratch mark on her cheeks.

Leia Organa had never looked more  _ beautiful. _

"I kriffing  _ love _ you," Han shouted to Leia, grinning from ear to ear, adrenaline filling his nerves that he only registered his words  _ after _ it had came out. 

_ Did he justㅡ? _

Behind Leia, he could see Vader, halting from his assault to one man who dared to approach him, visibly twitching at the blatant declaration like he was personally  _ affected  _ by the statement. Han should be afraid, but all that paled in comparison to the feeling when Leia replied with a grin just as wide, gun in her arm ready for fire. 

"I  _ know,"  _ she said, cheekily, with a smile as dazzling as Tatooine's twin suns. 

Hearing her gleeful affirmation felt  _ better _ than winning the jackpot in his gambles, felt better than landing the killshot for those vicious imps. 

But the euphoria soon dissipated when Han realized a sneaking trooper behind her, trying to yank her over when she wasn't looking. "Leiaㅡ!" 

But then the trooper stopped, hand that previously extended to the Princess suddenly clawing to his neck, his face growing bluish and pained. 

There was only one person in the room who could make a man gasp for their breath without even  _ touching  _ them. 

"Nobody  _ touch  _ her!" He heard Vader bellowing with rage, his eyeless mask somehow burning with fury. In fact; the temperature of the room felt like it was dropping several degrees as a result of his  _ anger.  _

Han, feeling a similar kind of fury, didn't have the time nor capacity to analyze the implications of Vader's  _ odd  _ action. Instead he chose to use his brain to calculate momentum as he swerved to the ground, kicking the soldier's foot and toppled his balance before he could properly lay a hand on her. 

Vader, meanwhile, had gone  _ berserk,  _ attacking people with all his might for Force knows  _ why.  _ He didn't care. All that mattered was that she was  _ safe. _

Before he could properly cheer himself on that, though, he felt a sharp  _ pain  _ tearing through his body, causing him to yelp a sharp groan. 

_ "Han!" _

Moving his hand to his torso, Han winced. He could recognize the stain of  _ red _ at the skin of his palm as he lifted up the hand to look. He could feel adrenaline rushing out from his body, replaced with  _ pain  _ as a growingly blurry Leia crouched over to him in worry. 

"Hanㅡ _ kriff, Hanㅡ" _

_ Honey meeting chocolate.  _

"Princessㅡ" he rasped, feeling his head growing light. He knew he couldn't walk, now, not with this wound; not with this pain. His peripheral kept coming back to the door opening wide. 

_ Her only chance.  _

"Fuck, Han, I'm gonnaㅡyou'll be okayㅡ" 

"Leiaㅡ" he rasped, softly, his blood-stained hand holding her, gently pushing her away.

"No, don't say my name like  _ that, _ nerf-herderㅡ"

_ "Go."  _

Leia was tearful now, her voice growing pitched. "I'm notㅡI'm not gonna  _ leave _ you here, you stupid  _ smugglerㅡ"  _

"Lukeㅡ" Han winced, his breathing growing labored and shallow. He couldn't even get the words out, save for the kids' _name. "Luke."_

"Han, Pleaseㅡ"

"I'll beㅡ" he swept his gaze around, to the room that was still raging with fights; to Vader, angered and powerful, to Lando's army and his own troopers that had suffered his wrath, to the windowless room and shattered utensils around them. 

To the open door, free and unguarded.

_ Her only chance.  _

"I'll be  _ alright."  _ He reassured her, moot words sugar-coated to make her feel better. "Now  _ go."  _

Leia looked at the door, then at the raging fight, then back at him. "I'll come back for you." She told him, "I'll come back for  _ you,  _ I  _ swear."  _

Han hummed, giving her a weak smile. He didn't say anything, afraid that it would only hold her off some more when she  _ needed _ this escape. 

(but she promised to  _ come back _ , and  _ oh.  _

Han never knew how sweet it tasted to feel someone caring for him enough to  _ come back.)  _

"I  _ love _ you." Leia rasped, giving him a kiss on the foreheadㅡ

(Han pictured the beach, her smiling at him brilliantly. Pictured the base at Hoth, her singing at him those beautiful Alderaanian melodies. Pictured the interior of the Falcon, where she grasped his hands tight every time she needed reassurance, where she would hug him when her inhibitions had not gotten the best of her.

Han tasted  _ love; sweet and addictive like Honey, and succumbed. _ ) 

"I know." He rasped, tilting her chin with his clean hand to pull her down and kiss her lips  _ properly.  _

If he was going to die, he wouldn't want it to be without a proper goodbye kiss. Even if that kiss was his first one with  _ her.  _

Several sunlit seconds passed before she took a gasp of air. Han took the momentum to shove her away, weakly, to remind her where she should go, what she should  _ do.  _

"Go," he croaked, and Leia spared one last, tearful glance at him before bolting out. 

Han tried to muster all his strength until he was sure that Leia had escaped without being intercepted, before slumping to the ground, his breathing labored as the pains on his chest grew. Around him were arrays of bodies, slumped and defeated, motionless. Probably some of them lifeless. 

Merchant of Death, truly. 

He didn't see Lando lumped up with them men, with  _ him,  _ though, and took that as a good sign. Traitor or not, he was his  _ friend,  _ and he would hate to see his friends dying at the hand of this blasted Empire.

He closed his eyes, feeling his eyelids growing heavier by the second, calling him to a painless slumberㅡ

"Where is _ she?!" _

Someone was yanking his hair forcing him to lift his head up to face himㅡand saw a masked presenceㅡdark and menacing.  _ Vader.  _ "Where is the  _ Princess,  _ Solo?!" He hollered, voice echoing through the walls, laced with rageㅡ

And  _ panic?  _

"Dunno." Han shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the circumstances.

"I swear to  _ Force,  _ if you do not tell me where  _ my daughter is headingㅡ" _

His  _ what  _ now? Han snorted at that. The cyborg must have completely lost his kriffing  _ mind.  _ "yeahㅡ" he spluttered, feeling a tang of iron taste on his tongue. "right." 

_ You're fucking delusional. There is no way she's yours. She's too good for that. Too wonderful for that.  _

_ She and her brother both. _

Vader froze, the hand on Han's fringe tensing, his  _ sshh-sshh-sshh  _ coming out in labored breathing. "Brother?" Vader all but hissed now, his modulator sounding oddly  _ emotional.  _

Han stilled. Had he said it out  _ loud?  _

"I can read your kriffing  _ mind,  _ Solo." Hissed Vader, answering the questions he didn't even have the energy to voice  _ out.  _ "What do you mean,  _ brother?"  _

Oh,  _ shit.  _

Don't think about the kid don't think about the kid _ don't think about the kidㅡ _

_ (Images of the kid, exhilaration dominating him as he rode to space for the first time. The kid, crying for his lost aunt and uncle in Fulcrum's arms with Leia. The kid, mischievously hitting Han with a snowball he made with his force mumbo jumboㅡ _

_ "Now that's some bounty you got on your head, kid." Han joked, looking at the large poster flimsies stuck on the walls at Ryloth, all plastered with Luke's face and 'WANTED: RED FIVE FOR DESTROYING IMPORTANT IMPERIAL PROPERTY' in block letters. "Not bad for a twenty year old."  _

_ The kid snickered. "They don't even know my name." He grinned at Han, big smiles that looked just like his sister's, if not softer. "Imagine if they doㅡdo you think it will double the prize?"  _

_ Han snorted. "Nah. The mystery's what selling you, kid." He said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, it ain't gonna happen. Your name is for the alliance only, poster boy." Han ruffled his head affectionately.  _

_ "Hmph." Luke suppressed his laughter. "Wait till the Empire figure out that they were bested by some scrawny farmer nobody from Tatooine named Luke Skywalker." He snickered, then, "bet the shame is gonna send Vader to a heart attack.")  _

Vader dropped Han's head then, like he was a hot iron. The cyborg was gasping for breath now, the air coming in stilted and stuttered. "Luke?" He rasped, his modulated voice coming out garbled and croaky. 

_ Shit. _

"Luke  _ Skywalker?"  _

_ Shit, shit, shit, shit.  _

Han closed his eyes, hoping that could shield Vader away from his head, but then he felt the glove-clad hand returning, tilting his head upㅡ _ gentler?ㅡ _ this time. 

"Whoㅡ" Vader rasped, "Who isㅡ?" 

The smuggler turned rebel felt consciousness leaving him, and partially he was glad, because at least Vader couldn't possibly read him and his messy head when he was out cold.

Right?

"Answer me,  _ Solo."  _ Growled Vader, when Han didn't replyㅡverbally or mentally. "Who is  _ he?"  _

_("Han! Chewie!" Luke's voice was laced with_ _relief, he sounded like he was thick with tears._ _"You came back!"_

_Han remembered that feeling; the feeling of being wanted, being expected, being hoped for. Long before the rebellion seeped their way to him, long before he made bonds with Biggs, Antilles, Dodonna, Riekaanㅡthe Kid and his sister had wanted him first.)_

Han pressed his lips, determination burning despite his circumstances. He felt sight leaving him, his pain too all-consuming and his ears ringing loud. 

"I don't gotta tell you  _ anything." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the really long updates, but,,,, uh,,,, thesis,,,, in good news, i have my thesis defense (hopefully) within the month!!! god i cannot wait to graduate :( pray for ya gal y'all she rlly wants to be a lawyer :((((


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke or Leia.” Padme whispered, slightly startling him as her hand rose to her belly, softly caressing it. 
> 
> “Whichever they’re going to be,” He said, grinning so widely even as anxiety was gnawing in his chest, “They’re going to be beautiful." 
> 
> (and oh, Force; they were magnificent.) 

It wasn’t a heart attack, but it was  _ close.  _

He could already feel his heart hammering near the breaking point, and his respirator beeping in alarm. His head, which was still dizzy with rage because someone had touched Leia—his daughter precious wonderful beautiful perfect  _ daughter  _ who had been injured had barely eaten possibly too weak to handle impending fights thrown at her anytime  _ soon— _ had been pounding in even more severe pain at the mere mention of—

_ Skywalker.  _

_ Luke Skywalker.  _

_ "bet the shame is gonna send Vader to a heart attack." _

Not a heart attack, but  _ close.  _

And it wasn't shame. It was nowhere near shame nor embarrassment. It was—

Panic. Unfiltered, unexpected  _ panic.  _

Because he had seen the insides of Solo's mind; saw the man that he proclaimed to be this— _ Luke Skywalker.  _

Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair. A too-naive smile. 

He had to breathe. He had to—

_ 'WANTED: RED FIVE FOR DESTROYING IMPORTANT IMPERIAL PROPERTY.' _

In, out, in, out—

_“The boy is strong in the force, perhaps capturing him would be a great asset to the Empire—something to turn the tides.”_ _he had said to his Master, so eager to distract the Emperor's mind—_

No, kriff; no, no,  _ no— _

He had—in his blind desperation to save his daughter from the Emperor, he had—had sold—

_ “Yes… and then maybe you can tempt him, turn him—or  _ torture _ him, depending on how he would react…” _

Shit, shit,  _ shit.  _

He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to stop hyperventilating, stop focusing on the growing on his chest.  _ It could be a lie.  _ He told himself, trying to grapple some semblance of sanity for purchase because right now he had none;  _ could be a well-crafted lie to throw you off your rhythm.  _

But—

He glanced at the unconscious smuggler at the floor—the man his daughter had somehow,  _ some fucking how,  _ fell in love with—and felt no lie coming from him. Not even when he was sneering at him. Not when he was picking up fights.

And definitely not in his staggering last breaths into consciousness, when his mind had scoffed at the idea of  _ him  _ fathering Leia—

and her  _ brother.  _

_ Luke _ , the boy in Solo's mind had said, rather proudly so. 

Luke Skywalker. 

Solo groaned, weak and hoarse, causing him to snap out of his reverie. He turned sharply at the young man, watching as his face contorted into something akin to  _ pain. _

**_Leave him here,_ ** whispered the Dark, as vicious and gleeful as ever, and oh, what a tempting thought, that was **_; no man should survive an encounter with your wrath, much less a lowly smuggler like him; who dared to touch your daughter, to love her—_ **

He blinked. 

_ "Ani? You've grown up… I love you…" _

Love.

_ "Stop, please, Ani—I love you—" _

_ Love. _

_ "You were my brother Anakin! I loved you!" _

**_Love._ **

_ "I could have cherished her, nurtured her, loved her—"  _

Next thing he knew, his hand was up on the smuggler's torso, calling for the Force, any Force that would listen to him in return, and focused all his might to heal the gaping bullet wound at Solo's body. 

He was heaving when the wound finally closed, turning an angry shade of pink, could see how the smuggler's face relaxed involuntarily upon having his pains healed. 

The Scruffy-looking man was a lowly criminal, a man with more bounty in his head than money in his pocket, but the smuggler had loved his daughter; had loved her with all his heart, enough to reassure her when she was visibly tense, and enough to jeopardize his own safety for her survival.

Solo had loved his daughter, and his daughter had loved this man in return, so that was enough to save his life. 

_ (The force should have known; there was nothing in this galaxy he would not do to ensure that a Skywalker wouldn't have to lose another loved one.) _

The bullet causing Solo's wound—lifted from his flesh with the Force—was quickly discarded at the corner of the room, making a loud  _ clang  _ noise that no one else protested or reacted against. 

It was only then did he realize his surroundings; left and right, toppled over and clashed with one another, were bodies—bodies of Bespin's sad excuse of troopers and of his own soldiers. They were  _ still _ , eerily so—and his enhanced listening device couldn't pick more than a couple noises of one's breathings.

Most of these people are  _ dead,  _ he realized; dead, because of _ him.  _

He was surprised that the knowledge stirred repulsion deep within his gut; the taste of horrendous realization had not visited him in quite a long while. The stench of death had long ago stopped bothering him, after all, but—the fact that there were so many fatalities surrounding this planet; this planet, which held his daughter, which, if Solo's minds were true, held his—

Death suddenly felt very painful to think about. Death suddenly reminded him of a choking wife, of a fading mother. 

He straightened himself so sharply he almost lost balance, his system still awry with all of the sudden emotional tolls weighed upon them. Quickly, he shook his head, trying to straighten his mind and grapple his surroundings. 

Fett was lying unconscious on the floor, but he could still hear the man breathing, and, judging from the state of the mercenary, was probably going to bounce back awake soon. Some other survivors were, too, but they all were knocked out cold, with varying degrees of injuries in their wake.

(He tried not to think about  _ death, death,  _ **_death,_ ** _ filling his senses, death surrounding him, death clawing their hands nearer and nearer to his—)  _

There was a louder crash outside, snapping him off his lamentations, and forced him to reground himself. 

_ Leia.  _

She had ran off, amidst the chaos to Force-knows-where. Solo, in his last moments of consciousness, had refused to tell him where she went, but— 

_ "Tell them to stand down, now—and tell them; we don’t have anyone named Skywalker here."  _

Clenching his hands, he tried to reign in the panic re-budding through his system. Calrissian's words and their implications had rung all too clearly now that he was standing alone in the room, anger draining out of him. He couldn't really process it before, had acted upon basic instincts upon seeing an impending threat, but now—

Something dropped at the pit of his stomach, causing him to whip his head abruptly at the direction of the opened door, where faint noises of chaos could be heard echoing through the halls, carried by the wind. 

The troopers had incited violence, Calrissian had said—attacking the City, assaulting the people without his consent or knowledge. But that was  _ impossible;  _ his instructions had been clear, his commands non-debatable. The 501st were his  _ Fist _ , his soldiers first and foremost since the beginning of their designation—they had never disregarded orders, nor had they ever acted without his approval. 

And yet as he bolted outside, taking long strides in the hallways, the undeniable facts of riots were there; in the broken tiles, blood splatters, shattered windows, blaster marks, and scattered bodies, however sparse. He'd recognize the job of his men, and these were theirs; their attacks, their shots, their fires; all because—

because  _ what? _

_ "tell them; we don’t have anyone named Skywalker here." _

His body ran cold. He hastened his steps, feeling dread prickling his nerves. Something was amiss, a crucial fact he had yet to obtain, a key to all these questions surrounding the situation. 

_ Leia,  _ he thought, as he quickly ascended into running along the halls, following the growingly loud noises;  _ find Leia and— _

_ "tell them; we don’t have anyone named Skywalker here." _

Shit, shit, shit, shit,  _ shit.  _

The clanging of his iron legs were echoing through the space of the hallways, his desperation only growing by the second as he passed more marks of leftover brawls and no sign of anyone  _ living. _

_ (No sign of her and him.) _

There were sounds of chaos downstairs, and so he followed, forgoing the circular steps entirely and opted to instead jump straight down, knowing well that his mechanical leg will prop him up without fail—usually. 

He was glad he wore a foreboding mask to hide his wince when his suit, compromised as it already was, sent shockwaves of sharp pain to his system as he landed gracelessly, cloak billowing behind him. His rather loud, firm landing was just in time to when more troopers were storming into the hallways, completely disregarding his presence like they didn’t see him at  _ all.  _

_ "your men had been attacking my city, my people not long after you entered this fucking room!" _

_ “I did not command them to do anything.”  _

Ice ran through his body as he followed the men, his mind screaming so many things at once he could hear  _ none  _ of them—only relying on the gnawing feeling of danger blooming within the pits of his stomach. 

And wasn’t it ironic? A man of his calibre, his reputation, the Merchant of  _ Death _ , sensing  _ danger? _

His troopers, his  _ Fist  _ were storming off in an oddly, eerily uniformed manner, all steps taken in sync with one another, all their weapons propped and lifted the same way, with the exact same angle. As they disappeared around the corner, he noticed that there was something  _ unsettling  _ about their movements, and for a second he was reminded by another time, another  _ place— _

_ The troopers marched behind him, guns ready to fire as he led them to the Jedi Temple, teartracks still fresh and self-doubt mixed with anxiety brimming together in his conscience.  _

_ “Order 66,” his new Master had said; “Lead them through order 66—destroy all the Jedis.”  _

_ As he dispatched the troopers to the rooms where younglings resided, he chanted to himself, trying to quench his hammering heart, his rising bile;  _

_ For Padme for Padme for  _ **_Padme—_ **

He was just reaching the corners, anxiety hot in his heels, when he heard it; a bickering amidst loud noises of the chaos, seemingly trying to slip in their personal issues to one another while fighting for their lives. 

_ Them.  _

“—this is exactly  _ why  _ I do the talking and you do whatever I told you— _ duck!”  _

“Ow, ow, my hair—can you blame me for trying to save you—on your  _ right!”  _

“Well I can definitely blame your reckless— _ behind you!— _ trial!” 

“How in nine Corellian  _ hells _ do these troopers keep  _ coming?!”  _

He froze. 

One voice had belonged to  _ Leia,  _ and he had learned to memorize that bossy, low-pitched voice everywhere, without failure. But the voice responding _ hers _ , the voice she vigorously spoke to—

It had been three years ago, spoken in the heights of an awry battle that had simultaneously been his least and utmost priority, but he remembered; 

And he  _ recognized that voice. _

_ "Bold of you to assume," taunted the rebel pilot through the comms, surprising all of them, surprising  _ him,  _ "that any of our fights would be  _ swift."

He carried himself as fast as he could, despite the increasingly compromised suit system due to the stress. His sight was tinted red—scarlet with blood-like hues, designed to only see everything in the lenses of macabre and suffering—but  _ oh,  _ as he sped up to the turn he saw  _ them,  _ amidst the arrays of soldiers and gunfires; 

_ Her _ —with her elaborate hairdo loosening around the edges, bruises blooming on her flushed cheeks and arms while her bright, brown eyes were narrowing as she held her blaster high, aiming for fire. 

She reminded him of a determined senator standing next to him, all those years ago in Geonosis. 

And then there was  _ him.  _

The first thing he thought was that the photos collected by the Empire through surveillance records didn’t do him  _ justice;  _ he was  _ beautiful,  _ even when he was disheveled and breathless as he expertly evaded the attacks in sync with his sister. Those grainy pictures didn’t stand a chance against actually  _ looking at him.  _

Even with the tinted sight, he could tell that the boy had  _ his eyes— _ his ocean-blue hues before it all turned to hell, before his powers were altered, his eyes changed, distorted into nothing but flaming  _ golden _ —but then the warmth, the bright light radiating from those orbs were  _ hers;  _ his wife, his  _ Angel.  _

“Luke, look out—” 

_ "Now if it's a boy, Ani," Padme's voice was so gleeful, so mischievous, "and I know  _ he  _ is, by the way—we are going to name him Luke."  _

"She  _ is a girl," he insisted, coyly, palm spread over her swelling middle. "But as your good, humoring husband do tell me what it means—ow!"  _

_ Padme had shoved him lightly with a pillow, her cheeks flushed in exaggerated annoyance. "You're an ass, Anakin Skywalker," she huffed, dramatically swiping her curls behind her neck.  _

_ "And yet you love me." He only laughed, climbing back to be near her as he snuggled back to her belly, grinning from ear to ear when he felt the faint flutters of his child's movements. "So Luke." He glanced up at her, eyes laced with mirth and genuine joy. "What does it mean?"  _

_ “I don’t know; you were being mean.” She playfully pouted, even when she was leaning closer to him. “I might not tell you, after all—”  _

_ “Come on, Angel, I told you mine!” He protested, just as playful, as he rose up and kissed her jaw, “is—” her cheeks, “this—” her forehead, “enough—” her lips; sweet and long and consuming her just as much as it had consumed  _ him,  _ “for an apology?”  _

_ He leaned back, smugly watching as his wife was flushed deep red, eyes glazed as her lips were still slightly opened from the sudden—but not unwelcomed—barrage of kisses. “Hm,” She hummed, licking her lips, “maybe you can convince me again…”  _

_ “Mmhm,” Anakin coyly smirked, tucking a hair behind her ears, “all in due time, Angel,” he said, sweetly, “but first; Luke.”  _

_ Padme laughed; bell-like and wonderful to his ears, as she leaned closer, impossibly closer, to him. “Luke,” She agreed, looking up to the ceiling, her eyes growing glazed and faraway, “in Nubian, it means Lightbringer.” She said, smiling contently as he leaned to her in utmost attention, “When I was little, my dad used to put me and Sola up on his shoulders early in the morning, taking us to watch the sunrise from the balcony.” Padme turned at him, eyes laced with joy and mirth, “and he would tell us about the story of this God named Lukas, the bearer of lights who invented the Sun to quench darkness away from Naboo,” She chuckled, “I was such a scaredy loth-cat as a child, so that was always my favorite Deity growing up; the Sunshine God.” She finished, looking at him intently. “It’s a little childish, isn’t it?”  _

_ The man, completely enraptured by his wife, quickly came to quench her sheepish worries. “Of course not.” He said gently, meaning every word, before leaning to her swollen belly, murmuring the name. “Little Lightbringer or Little Lioness.” He grinned, enamored with the flutters of kicks and elbows responding to his voice.  _

_ Life’s hardships seemed to fade when they were talking about their family lives, about the baby they were so infinitely grateful for, despite the circumstances. With her present, with  _ them  _ present in his life, everything seemed like it was the beginning of a budding happiness.  _

_ He thought about the nightmares, the premonitions, and vowed more now than ever to not let it be true. _

_ “Luke or Leia.” Padme whispered, slightly startling him as her hand rose to her belly, softly caressing it.  _

_ “Or,” He said, mischievously, despite the mirth that couldn’t quite reach his eyes. “It could be  _ both.” 

_ Padme shoved him again, her eyes widening in half-disbelief, half-amusement. “Anakin!” she chastised, trying to sound all serious and morose, but failed spectacularly when he dipped into her once more, peppering her with light kisses.  _

_ “Whichever they’re going to be,” He said, grinning so widely even as anxiety was gnawing in his chest, “They’re going to be beautiful, and we’re going to love them so  _ much.” 

(and oh,  _ Force;  _ they were  _ magnificent.)  _

The firing around him continued, with so many— _ so many— _ flying into Luke and Leia’s direction. He marveled on their movements, almost their instinctual synchronization, like one half of the other finally reuniting. 

Force,  _ twins.  _

They had both been  _ right.  _

Another fire passed too narrowly in-between the gap of the twin’s stance, so  _ close  _ to grazing them, maiming them,  _ hurting them _ and he quickly snapped away from his lamentations, slapping him with the cold hard truth of the impending danger the twins were currently facing. 

_ (his children.  _ He had  _ children.  _ They were  _ his, his and Padme’s. _

_ And they were in danger. On Force, they were in  _ danger. 

_ He had to protect them. He had to—)  _

“Cease your fires!” He ordered, his voice booming, echoing through the rooms, surprising all of the parties involved in the brawl; his troopers, the Bespin soldiers, and most importantly—the Princess and the Pilot _.  _ They all whipped their heads at the direction of where he stood, realizing his presence amongst them. 

_ Blue and brown eyes blown wide.  _

And then all colors were drained from Leia’s face—transferring into Luke’s intensely angry expression.  _ “Vader,”  _ they both had said, simultaneously; the boy, in a contemptuous hiss, and the girl, in a choked whisper. 

Around them, fear and anger swirled strong in the Force, so palpable it felt almost pitch  _ black,  _ and it should have  _ pleased  _ him; the way they were so ripe with budding Darkness that it reminded him of  _ himself,  _ so ready to follow his footsteps, to stand beside him with just the right nudge, but it didn’t.

Instead he felt a cold fear, coldness he had last felt a long time ago, in another time, as another person in another side of this blasted war. The fear took root at his gut, spreading through his vein like liquefied ice, carrying a sickly feeling all over his body, causing even his mechanical limbs to feel tense. 

He was  _ afraid;  _ afraid of the Dark sinking its claws to his—his—

_ Luke and Leia.  _

**_But why—_ **

_ Bang!  _

The shot, this time, was straight to his leg, hitting his thigh, eliciting a surprised yelp from Luke and Leia, as he looked down slowly to see another set of entangled wires fried, sparks flying. The pain was nonexistent, as it usually was when it comes to artificial limbs, but his breathing sped up nonetheless. 

As the Empire’s Military Supreme Commander, he was used to being the target of a shot, so that didn’t surprise him. 

No—what surprised him was the fact that it was Appo; his Commander,  _ Appo,  _ who raised the gun right in line to his direction, fingers readily hovering around the trigger, ready to fire. There was no hesitation, not even a simple acknowledgement of his presence. 

_ Appo, his own right hand man.  _

“Commander.” He growled at the trooper in front of him, one he led through battles upon battles, one who, without question, with unwavering trust, would follow his commands in every single one of them. “Put your weapon  _ down.”  _

Unfazed, Appo continued to aim his gun at him. “Stand down.” He ordered, his voice  _ void  _ of all emotions. “Do not interfere with the Order.” 

Something in his mind flickered; a memory from another time—

_ “We are here to assist you on Order 66.” Spoken with the same voice, same tone, some hollowness that lingered bitter on his conscience as he accepted the title of their leader in a much different battle.  _

Peripheral catching Luke and Leia’s frozen, confused expression, his mind screamed in chopped loop like a broken record;  _ something was wrong something was wrong something was  _ **_wrong—_ **

“What Order?” He gritted his teeth, his voice coming out as a hiss, even more menacing with the aid of the modulator. 

He was met with silence. 

“What is this Order, Commander?” 

_ "tell them; we don’t have anyone named Skywalker here." _

“Stand down.” Repeated Appo once more, hand steadily raised. He saw how others under the unit—his troopers, his own  _ Fist— _ readying their weapons at him, as if waiting for the slightest signal to  _ attack. _

_ Something was wrong something was wrong something was  _ **_wrong—_ **

“And if I do not?” He challenged the man, eyes glaring daggers at the Commander, at the troopers behind him, as he manipulated the Force, sending them to prickle into their suits, hover at their presence.

Completely unbothered, utterly unshakable, Appo replied swiftly, helmet-clad head tilted slightly as he did so, as if his upcoming words were indisputable  _ fact.  _ “Then you shall be  _ terminated.”  _

The ice in his veins ran impossibly colder, seizing his body up with the shock caused by Appo's words.

_ What?  _

_ Bang, bang, bang!  _

There were shots aimed at him; shots  _ deliberately _ aimed at him, by  _ his own soldiers. _

It took him quite a while to identify the burning sensation spreading in his chest like wildfire; 

betrayal. 

He was  _ betrayed.  _

Some shots grazed his respirator, another added more sparks to his arm, but it wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with, physically. Instead, the realization fueled something that had been put in the back-burner these past few days, fueled something he all knew too  _ well— _

**_Now that's my boy,_ ** whispered the Dark, gleeful,  **_I was beginning to think that you are getting too soft…_ **

One trooper aimed his gun at him, and he crushed his hand before the man even had a chance to fire. He recognized the uniform, knew that was Sixes, and a smaller, secluded part within him—one that had continuously been making a steady rise these past few days—had screamed in alarm. 

_ He was your friend these were your friends stop stop stop— _

Using his rage to quench the voices—both outside and inside his head, he snarled and shoved several others; each and every single one of them he could name.

_ Flash, Kano, Joc— _

But at the time,  _ Vader  _ didn't  _ care.  _

“Fuck!” He heard a muffled yell, mixed voices coming amidst the battle, and in his haze of anger saw his  _ children, his _ Luke and  _ his _ Leia, ducking and protecting themselves from the continuous assaults even as the troopers were now split between them and himself. One bullet grazed Leia's cheek, and another trooper's baton hit Luke's head, and the deep-seared rage within him was only amplified. 

"Get away from them!" Vader bellowed, immediately assuming stance before the twins—his twins,  _ his— _ and flicked the troopers before him without much regard to their safety. 

_ Boomer, Ged— _

Vader turned sharply to Luke and Leia's direction, causing the both of them to flinch at the sudden attention. He could see the leaking blood trail at Luke's forehead, his slightly glazed eyes looking at him in dazed confusion. He could see the lines of blood dripping from Leia's cheek, the scarlet a contrast to her blooming blue bruises. 

His children, his  _ twins,  _ his Lioness and Light-bringer, had been  _ wounded. _

The white hot anger within him increased tenfold, and even the sight finally,  _ finally  _ shut the voices up.

_ (The Force should have known, he would not let those hurting his loved ones not see the repercussions of their actions.)  _

Unlatching his saber from his hip, Vader was almost  _ gleeful  _ when he welcomed the beckoning of the Dark once more, its powers and promises singing to him as he ignited the blade ablaze, the scarlet as bright as the wound on Leia's cheek, as the blood trail on Luke's forehead. 

_ Nobody touches his children.  _

In that moment, all he knew was  _ rage _ , blinding and all-consuming, suffocating just as much as they fueled him. Spikes of anger continued to motivate him as he slashed and shoved and hit and choked his own men, left and right. 

He was, once again, under the mercy of the Dark, which sang gleefully at his utter submission in return of the trooper’s demise. 

It wasn’t until he was nudged by a presence in the Force, a presence he knew even longer,  _ older  _ than the twins, did he finally snap out of his angered daze, raising his blade in defense as he turned sharply to his side—

—to meet a blade he had long recognized, even without his full-colored sight present. 

_ “Ahsoka!” _

_ “Fulcrum!” _

“Get out of the way,” Vader gritted, narrowing his eyes beneath the mask, staring at the not-so-young togruta before him.  _ “Tano.”  _

In return, Ahsok— _ Tano  _ merely bared her teeth, grinning rather wildly as she finally jumped, retreating, assuming a ready stance.  _ “Vader.”  _ She spat on his name, jagged and sharp and stabbing him in all the wrong places, which only irritated him even more. 

Vader  _ paused,  _ his anger halting, simmering onto the sides. The Dark once again retracted, clearing his mind, however slight, and now his vision and comprehension was less clouded. Now, he could see that amidst the troopers, there stood Tano; and Rex—his Rex, his commander, his right hand man years ago, in a different war—and another younger girl, which was quickly pulled to Leia’s side, her arm clutched tightly by the Princess.

“Tell your men to stand  _ down!” _ Yelled Tano, eyes narrowing so sharply at him, her voice dangerously even despite the fact that she was speaking while blocking attacks from the troopers on her left and right. 

(A secluded part within him, one shoved and forced to be forgotten, swelled at her composure at the face of the battle;  _ such a far cry,  _ said part lamented,  _ from the little Padawan we knew and raised.)  _

He was tempted to challenge her in return, to ask why he should comply with her wishes, but--there was no point. No point to hide the fact that he had  _ lost control of his soldiers.  _

Especially--from the way Tano was already taking a protective stance on the gap between him and the twins (his twins,  _ his)-- _ when they seemed to have the same goal. 

_ Protect Leia. Protect Luke.  _

“I  _ can’t.”  _ Vader chose to be honest instead, gritting his teeth. 

“Why the  _ hell not?!”  _

“Because—” A flash of movement beside him, and Vader acted upon instinct, his saber  _ slashing  _ the arm of an approaching trooper, his gun-holding hand, which was previously aimed at him, now had fallen uselessly on the floor. 

_ Tup. his name was Tup.  _

“Because of  _ that.”  _ He snarled, turning his head sharply to Ahsoka, whose eyes now no longer narrowed, and instead had blown wide in the blatant act of assault, of insubordination displayed before her. 

Yet at that split second, Vader was much more intrigued by the man next to her—the man who seemed to age way older than he actually was; all white hairs and bald head. The man who, at the moment, was pale as sheet as he instinctively crouched down to reach the fallen trooper Vader had amputated— _ Tup, his name was Tup— _ mumbling to himself. 

“It's  _ starting,”  _ was all Rex had said, as he watched the seizing trooper _ (Tup, Tup, Tup) _ then at the other clones—his brothers, Vader realized then; his  _ vod— _ around him, all fully fighting, unaware of his presence. 

The statement made Vader froze, before he strode to the man’s direction and practically lifted him up by the armor, straightening him to match his eye level. “What is  _ starting?”  _ Growled Vader, as he held Rex in place, his aged feature a jarring sight despite him seeing it replicated in the faces of the other clones under his command. “Answer me, soldier, what has—” 

“Luke, look  _ out!”  _

There was a  _ flash  _ of  _ something,  _ speeding up and passing beside Vader and Rex, only a hair’s breadth away from their side as it launched, and he barely had the time to process what the  _ hell  _ was that, acted more with instinct than anything else as he caught the thing—

And found it to be a blade he knew  _ too well _ .

One small, poisonous blade, capable of disabling a man in one shot, rendering one immobile and pliable for their taking, that was supposed to be used  _ only  _ by the Imperial high spies to capture top Most Wanted enemies the Emperor wanted  _ alive _ . At its height, the poison coating the blade could even mess with someone's psyche, or permanently damage their nervous system. 

Something inside him grew colder even more; he didn't even authorize his troopers to bring anything  _ close  _ to this level of lethality—much less  _ use  _ it. 

The nagging feeling in his head, the one that first led him before the Dark took charge, now returned tenfold;

_ “Do not interfere with the Order.” _

_ The near stoicity as they approached to maim him, to maul him—as if they didn't recognize who he was— _

Despite his respirator regulating his breath to stay  _ normal,  _ the dawning realization made him suck a sharp, deep breath. 

_ Something was wrong something was wrong something was  _ **_wrong—_ **

Another trooper sped up past him, raising his blade-wielding hand high as he ran to  _ Luke's  _ direction. He turned, sharply, just in time to see Leia realizing the incoming assault as well, jumping to shield her brother with her own body. 

Vader dropped Rex from his grip, cursing his frayed wirings because his movements felt so slow, too  _ slow  _ as he watched the soldier— _ Boro, his name was Boro— _ slowly reaching them before he could even get  _ closer _ to them, to  _ her,  _ "Lai-yah,  _ no—"  _

_ "Boro!"  _

Hand extended in a desperate attempt to let the Force aid him in disarming the man,  _ disabling _ him, he was instead surprised when the trooper was swerved instead, apprehended and pulled down by—

"Brother!" It was  _ Rex,  _ locking the man in place with his own body and whacking the trooper's helmet-clad head with his own baton as hard as he could, making a loud clanging sound that must have been painful for the receiver. "Fight it!" He urged the man before him, voice laced with worry. "Remember who you  _ are,  _ Boro, don't let the chip—"

Something inside him  _ settled.  _ Deep and rooted and  _ ugly.  _

A  _ chip.  _

_ "But why can't we run away?" Asked a much smaller him, weeping to his mother one tearful day after Gardulla the Hutt had whipped her; 30 lashes for forgetting to put salt into the Hutt's disgusting concoction of a lunch. _

_ Mom tried to suppress a wince, and he immediately retreated the towel from her back, knew that he accidentally hit a particularly sore spot. "Because, Ani—" she raised her hand, holding the back of his neck tenderly, finger brushing the indented square mark just underneath the skin. _

_ "They'll kill us if we do."  _

The trooper— _ Boro _ —was initially rigid while Rex continued to yell at him to  _ remember,  _ but then Vader saw it; the slight loss of tension, the sagging on his shoulders, and his tentative,  _ tentative _ voice as he said,  _ "Rex?" _

Rex looked like he was about to cry in his relief, his hands holding Boro by the sides of his helmet. "Yes, Boro, that's it, that's—"

But the soldier's own hand was still raised, his blade ready, and it was too close, too close to Leia, to  _ Luke _ for his comfort, and Vader—

"Gene—Vader— _ no!" _

He blinked, and Boro's head was on the ground, rolling away from his body, completely  _ severed.  _ Beside the headless trooper, Rex looked petrified, eyes blown wide as he looked at the body, then the head, then at  _ him.  _

"What have you  _ done?"  _ Rex whispered, more shocked and incredulous than anything, but there was an underlying grief there, only beginning to bubble for the death before him was so  _ swift,  _ so  _ sudden. _

Vader heaved, despite physically not having to, the crackles of the Dark beneath his commands singing gleefully at the claim of life. Yet he found himself not being able to be as gleeful or as nonchalant as he  _ should,  _ found himself yearning to give Rex a  _ reason  _ instead on why he had killed his brother, his  _ vod. _

But the remaining troopers around him, around them, seemed to be unfazed at the decapitation that had just occurred, much like they gave little regards to the previous deaths he had caused to his own battalion. 

Their own  _ brothers— _

_ "Do not interfere with the order."  _

_ "Remember who you are, Boro, don't let the chip—" _

He could barely block them as they now moved in groups, speeding up all to one direction only; to Luke and Leia. Vader felt some of the bullets, batons and blades slashing his side, his arms, his legs, further compromising his suit. These were the men he had  _ trained  _ with; who  _ knew  _ beyond instincts of his moves, his strengths, his  _ weaknesses _ .

Vader, fully sensing the intention before the act even came to fruition, was about to welcome the upcoming blow to his right, knowing fully well that he couldn't defend himself from that side when he was too occupied trying to hold two troopers right in front of him, when—

A pair of bright, blinding blades slashed the baton into useless halves, before the soldier— _ Jesse, his name was Jesse— _ was shoved to the corner of the room by the  _ Force. _

But it wasn't him who had manipulated it; far too soft for it to be him--far too considerate, too  _ Light  _ for it to be him-- 

Instead he looked to his side and found  _ Tano,  _ heaving as she assumed a ready position in front of him, her twin vibroblades in position. 

_Had she—had_ _she stood up for him?_

"Go!" She yelled, sharply, turning her glare to Luke and Leia and the girl, who looked half-confused, half-shell-shocked at the continuous unexpected turn at the circumstances. "They all want  _ you,  _ so get  _ out of here!"  _

Vader blinked, and the next he opened his eyes, Luke and Leia were already gone; speeding up as they ran with all their mights, bringing the girl—Winter?—in tow. All his instinct yearned to follow them, to make sure they were near his side at all times—

_ Too long too long 22 years of separation of lies of deceit was far too long he couldn't take another  _ **_second—_ **

—but then Appo had tried to pursue them as well, running with his weapon ready, and Vader barely managed to grab him by the collar, holding him back to chase after them while growling, "If you value your life, stay—"

"If you interfere with the Order—"

_ "What Order?!"  _ He all but yelled, bellowing as he raised his saber once more, intent on murdering him, for ominous orders or not, nobody  _ touches  _ his children, nobody _ tries  _ to  _ main them,  _ nobody even  _ thinks  _ about  _ harming them— _

_ "Stop!"  _

Someone was pulling Appo away from him, and Vader blinked, looking up, and found it was Rex, locking Appo in his grip so as to not escape him, but also securing the man from Vader's vicinity. "Don't." When Rex spoke, his voice was soft, quiet and pleading. "No more. Not another one,  _ please."  _

Vader was sure that even with the mask covering his face, Rex could feel his glare at him, sharp as dagger. "He is your  _ enemy—"  _ he spat.

"He is my  _ brother—" _

"—and he and his men are trying to kill  _ my—!" _ Vader completely dismissed Rex, once again consumed by the anger and let it steer him. He only realized his almost-slip at the last second, screwing his mouth shut immediately before he could fully say the word.

_ My children.  _

_ They were trying to kill my children _ .

Something in Rex's face changed, and he inevitably released Appo, who staggered at the sudden freedom, limping unconsciously to Vader. The Sith Lord flicked him to a nearby wall without much of a thought, his interest rather averted, piqued by Rex's shocked face. 

For once, the former trooper didn't protest against his methods.

There was a sharp intake of breath coming from behind him, and he sharply turned to see Ahsoka— _ Tano _ , pausing for a split second from her continuous onslaught against the attacking troopers, her face paling upon hearing his words. "You  _ knew?" _ She whispered, her voice fearful and tense.

Vader's ire spiked into  _ fury,  _ his mind going back to the memory he gathered from Solo's weak mind— 

_ —Luke, his face hidden within the togruta's embrace, Leia beside him, her tears paving a new track on her cheeks—  _

"You think you can hide them from me  _ forever?"  _ He sneered, letting his fury seep out, like invisible arms that cracked the surfaces surrounding them; walls, floors, pillars— "they are  _ mine,  _ Tano, and if you think hiding them has no consequences—"

Tano's face narrowed at him, seemingly ready for a rebuttal, only to then immediately morph into something akin to panic. "On your left—"

This time, with no twins present, he had no qualms on holding back in fear of hurting anyone; he didn't even turn as he unleashed the Dark  _ fully— _ letting it whip out all the stormtroopers within his vicinity, sending them hitting every available surface; floor, walls,  _ ceilings— _ didn't even care when Tano gasped and Rex spluttered because of it. 

"What have you—"

"Some of them are simply unconscious." Vader immediately cut off Rex's sentence before he could even finish. And it was  _ true, _ because he could still sourly feel their life forces, dimmed and wounded but still  _ there.  _ "A far too light punishment for what they were trying to do—"

_ "They don't have a choice!"  _ Rex hotly replied, now that there were no more troopers they needed to fight—at least for a  _ while— _ he stood to his full height, defying Vader with his glare. "Don't you see it? Don't you  _ get it?!"  _ He waved his hand, wildly, as if trying to make a point. 

_ "Do not interfere with the order."  _

_ "Remember who you are, Boro, don't let the chip—" _

_ The near stoicity as they approached to maim him, to maul him—as if they didn't recognize who he was—who they themselves even were— _

Vader narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know this?" He growled, leaning closer to Rex— _ Rex, his own commander, his right hand man, the person he trusted with his life, with his secrets about his wife— _

"A clone,  _ General,"  _ he said, grimly, hand gesturing to his head, "is never designed to  _ disobey." _

_ "Remember who you are, Boro, don't let the chip—" _

Vader gulped, thankful that the mask hid his nervousness, his doubts and fears as he continued. "They disobeyed  _ my orders—"  _

"Because  _ you are not their Master!"  _ Disputed Rex, stomping his foot in emphasis. "Not really. Not  _ ever."  _

Something at the pit of his stomach churned, affirming the slow realization that had been brewing deep within his conscience just after Lando had first barged in; that had long settled in his gut, the very second Appo raised his gun at him. 

_ "Tell them—we don't have anyone named  _ **_Skywalker_ ** _ here."  _

_ "Do not interfere with the  _ **_order."_ **

"You know who their true Master is." Said Rex, pressing on. "and you of all people should  _ know—"  _ he paused, grimly, "that  _ Palpatine  _ will do anything he can do to get what he  _ wants."  _

The dread in his chest was spilling over, making him nearly trip over his words as he asked,  _ "what. Do you. Mean?" _

Rex was undeterred. "...they asked for a  _ Skywalker _ , didn't they?" 

Fear, familiar and damning, stuttered his heart into a figurative halt, and he could dimly hear the mild alarm his suit had decided to sirene just right after Rex’s sharp words nailed on his conscience, confirming on what he had already known at the depth of his mind, but refused to  _ believe _ . “He—” Vader rasped, staggering back; away from Rex, away from  _ everything, _ “He couldn’t have—I didn’t even  _ know  _ until _ —”  _

_ “This is the reason why I am the master and you are the apprentice, Vader.” Sidious had said, his voice luring and seedy. “I simply see  _ **_more_ ** _ than what you see; I am always one step ahead of you.” _

Cold. His entire body felt  _ cold.  _

For the first time in  _ forever,  _ Vader was at  _ loss  _ on what to do; everything felt bleak and uncertain now moreso than ever—because he was  _ betrayed;  _ betrayed by his teacher, by the Jedi Order, by his own Troopers, and now by his  _ Master.  _

_ Why did he keep getting betrayed?  _

**_Hurts, doesn’t it?_ ** The Dark around him was so  _ gleeful  _ at his dumbfounded, grim realization;  **_Now why don’t you come with me, my boy;_ **

“Vader--”

**_I’m the only one who ever stayed, defended you by your side--_ **

“Anakin--”

\-- **_the only one who never took you for granted--_ **

“Shit,  _ Skyguy!” _

There was a hand on his shoulders, shaking him rather violently, and Vader blinked, taken away in his haze of fury to find Snip-- _ Tano,  _ before him, narrowing her eyes before him, hands gripping his frayed mechanical arm.  _ “Breathe.”  _ She grinded her teeth. “Stop  _ destroying  _ things.” She continued, and only then did Vader realize the further destruction his rage had caused; 

fallen pillars, shattered windows, crumbling walls... it was amazing that the floor had not collapsed as of yet.

A part of him--one that was  _ weaker,  _ one who  _ failed and kept on failing;  _ first to save his wife, then to obtain his children--had  _ yearned  _ for the touch she had provided, so firm and  _ grounding,  _ and above all so  _ considerate,  _ and it had been  _ such a long while  _ since he had someone  _ grounding him-- _

But  _ Vader  _ shrugged her off, rather violently, letting out a mechanical voice that was a cross between disgust and anger. “Get off me.” He said, though he made no move to distance himself, nor did he betray her wishes. 

Tano looked at him intently, undeterred by his harshness. “Be angry all you want.” She said, sharply, “Just don’t let it  _ consume you.”  _

“And why should I listen to  _ you?”  _ He growled in return, his towering height beating her tiny form by  _ far,  _ but it somehow still felt like she was staring down at him, trying to reprimand him, trying to  _ ground him.  _

She was firm in her stance, strong and undefeated as she said, “you don’t  _ have  _ to,  _ Skyguy,”  _ Tano insisted on calling him by the fond nickname, and  _ oh, how he hated it, how he  _ **_hated_ ** _ her for making him yearn for it--  _ “Your cybernetic armor should serve you  _ enough _ as a solid reminder.” 

Vader tensed, his frayed fingers commanded the Force, telling them to encircle her throat at the blatant disrespect-- 

_ So Kenobi had told her.  _

\--but he couldn’t bring himself to  _ tighten,  _ to  _ choke her.  _

(Part of him scoffed at the cowardice to carry the act, yet another part of him was  _ relieved  _ that her life wouldn’t be taken by his hands.

This time.)

Tano felt it too, it seemed; the intention, followed quickly by the hesitation--because she paled, her face whitening like a flimsi for a split second before exhaling when Vader retracted the Force from her throat, her quiet relief bleeding through the Force.

He looked away, mind racing because despite his hesitation to maim her, he still felt the Dark, sinking its claws tight to his shoulders, whispering to his heart encouragements about vengeance, about  _ conquest  _ that needed to be carried, needed to be  _ done  _ to truly make those who betrayed him  _ pay--  _

Face turning to the arrays of troopers before him, the Dark once again reared its ugly head, gleeful as he nodded,  **_there, right there, they’re your target--_ **

Only to find Rex, standing before him once more.  _ “Don’t,”  _ he said softly, and yet it was a warning more than anything else, and Vader could see his hand was twitching at the blaster in his grip, as if it was anxious to fire. “you know they don't deserve it _ ,  _ Vader.” 

_ You know it wasn't their fault. _

Vader snarled, the Dark beneath him crackling and lashing to a window nearby, shattering it to  _ pieces,  _ letting the sharp shards succumb to gravity. 

_ “Why can’t we run away?”  _

_ “Because they’ll kill us if we do.”  _

The Dark before him hissed in frustration, whispering about needing an outlet to  _ truly unleash  _ his fury, his unimaginable  _ powers-- _

"You don't want them to die?" He turned at Rex and Tano, who flinched in surprise at the sudden outburst. He waved a hand at the unconscious clones, watching as Tano and Rex warily nodded. "Then they're your problem." He growled, his tone final and undebatable. "I don't care what you do; just don't let them--" he stopped, letting the unspoken speak, filling in-between the lines.

(He was lying when he said he didn't care; but the nightmares and guilt were considerably small prices to pay--

Compared to Luke and Leia,  _ everything else  _ was a small price to  _ pay.)  _

He whisked his cape, already storming away when Tano yelled, "where are you  _ going?!"  _

Not even halting his steps, he didn't turn to face her as he said,  _ no-- _ announced; "I'm getting my  _ children back."  _ Spoken with indisputable conviction. 

Because he  _ would;  _ oh, nothing in this galaxy would be comparable to have his children safe, by his side. And he would do  _ anything,  _ anything to ensure  _ that. _

Tano's force presence seized up, tense and terrified. Still, he could hear her boots echoing down the hallway as she took storming steps at his direction. "If you harm even a single hair on their  _ heads--" _

Vader stopped, this time, turning sharply to her as he slammed a force wall, knocking Tano out from taking another step, as he said, lowly, "I find your insinuation insulting,  _ Scum."  _ His force presence hovered over her dangerously. "You're lucky you do not suffer the usual consequences for those who had insulted me."

_ (He would never harm my children He would never let them suffer He was trying to  _ **_save_ ** _ them goddamnit--) _

Tano glared at him, but then her eyes softened, growing wary, and Vader suspected that she had another trick up her sleeve--

**_Always the dramatic._ **

The grumbling comment on the force startled Vader, not because of the words, no, but because he  _ heard it-- _ through their  _ bond;  _ their long  _ abandoned _ , resentfully forgotten bond. 

A beat passed as he reveled in the discovery, and something in Ahso-- _ Tano _ 's face morphed into slight relief, and when she spoke next she wasn't as menacing, wasn't as threatening. "Then what do you plan to  _ do?" _ She asked, tilting her chin up, looking at him as a challenge rather than  _ pure _ contempt.

"I--" he paused, narrowing his eyes beneath the mask.  _ What would he do, now that he was out of army, out of the Empire's loop, out of everything he had ever known for the past 22 years?  _

"I'll figure it out." He finally said, his tone final; for he had to. 

For his children, he  _ had to. _

He turned away before she could formulate a reply, already storming out of the hallways, keen on finding Leia and Luke. He was surprised that he wasn't being followed, that Tano and Rex stayed behind with the clones. They  _ trusted him,  _ he realized, then;  _ trusted him enough to do the right thing. _

Vader didn't know if it was a touching gesture or an idiotic move. Probably a bit of both.

Although, he did hear Ahsoka's last words before he got too far, echoing through their Force-bond as a response for his wildcard answer.

**_Guess some things never changed, huh, Skyguy?_ **

_ Shut up, Snips. _

_ (He didn't even realize that he was starting to refer to her by her nickname.)  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crazy how the notes of my last chapter was just me worrying over my thesis, and now we're in the middle of a global lockdown trying to survive a pandemic... i debated on whether or not to post this chapter, but ultimately chose to hit send because I'm hoping a little update would cheer you up in the middle of the quarantine :') this was supposed to be a really long chapter, and let me tell you mixing constant epiphanies with continuous fight scenes is not easy to write, so i cut it to a two-parter, the second one which is still in the works. but I hope!!! I deliver this one well!!! 
> 
> that being said, stay safe, stay inside your house, and don't forget to wash your hands!! ily <3


	10. sadoso.

The escape was such a classic Skywalker Twins move; find a pathway that wasn't meant for humans or any other organic sentient, and blast their way into it as they hunkered down, descending to the unknown lower levels. The only surprise was the fact that it was his idea this time, not Leia’s.

Luke groaned, as they finally landed on hard iron floors. Times like this, he tried to grapple on the silver linings, the good things that he managed to catch amidst the increasingly fucked up situation. 

_At least they landed dry this time; the smells of the final disposal at the Death Star still haunted him, among other things._

"Do you think—" Winter's voice was strained, and from his peripheral, he could see the youngest of the princesses trying to sit, rubbing her back as she did so. "Do you think they're still following us?" 

"No." Luke answered, the firm conviction rolling off his tongue before he could think too much of the question. The Force swirled, around him, giving him assured affirmation. _Trust the Force,_ Yoda had always said, and so he did. 

"We're several floors down, and the vent door wasn't really visible at a quick glance, anyway." Leia took over, giving Winter a more grounded explanation, perhaps for reassurance. She, too, had straightened herself to rise from the rather graceless fall, wincing as she did so. "No one will think that we're sliding down here. Heck—" she looked around, to the red-tinted, overall dark room. "I don't even know where we _are."_

"From the looks of it, probably the floor where they keep their power-generator..." Luke piped up, glancing at the stray pipes, cables, the machineries, "...no wonder they made air vents linked so far away up." He winced, feeling the steam affecting his body, making it build up sweat. 

Leia huffed her agreement, standing up and slightly swaying as she did so. “We better get moving, then.” She said, looking around in general distaste. “Hope the hallways and other rooms aren’t as shitty as this one.” 

He realized her voice was slightly croaky, then, like it was unused for quite some time then immediately abused from overuse. He turned at her, then, feeling a gnawing worry brimming at the pit of his stomach for her. 

Under the dim, warm lighting, Luke saw how Leia’s face was a lot paler than usual, and that her fingers were slightly trembling. He could see how her eyes glazed for a couple of seconds, before refocusing around, and even then the slight emptiness never really went away. “Lei, hey.” he said, as he, too, rose up. Taking her hand over his, he realized how cold they were. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” Leia said, immediately withdrawing her hand away when Luke wrapped both of his around hers. “I’m fine.” she answered, tone clipped. 

Luke narrowed his eyes, quickly following her as she took quick strides to a visible exit, pushing the door open. “You don’t look fine,” He interjected, worry evident in his tone. He could see how her steps were unbalanced, how she would wince and blink, every once in a while. Could feel her dizziness and agitation from their bond. 

“probably the goddamn heat. _”_ Leia answered, her tone too tense and her words too quick to sound authentic or believable. "It's suffocating."

He turned to Winter, who was frowning beside him, arms shoved into her pockets as she looked at Leia with unbridled concern. “are you sure?” she asked, worriedly. 

"I am." Leia briskly answered as she stormed off, unstable, shaky steps leading her way as she opened the doors to the unknown. 

Winter argued, following suit with much firmer steps, hand reaching out to her. "Leia, you look pale as hell—"

Luke felt the budding crackle on the Force, faint and untrained and hesitant, but _there._

"—your steps are swaying, and why is your hand so kriffing cold—"

"Language, young lady—"

"—and you look like you haven't eaten in, like, three or four _years—"_

The crackles increased as Leia stiffened under Winter's barraging observation, pausing for a split second before brushing her sister away, movement harsher than usual. They were facing a three-way now, all options looking eerily similar and equally as damning. "If you have an input on the safest place to go next, that would be great," she said, tone dangerously even.

It was a warning, Luke realized. _Do not touch the subject,_ she had said without even saying it. 

Silence passed, unsettled and uncomfortable as Winter squirmed, Leia glared, and Luke tensed. 

Around them, the force awakened, swirling and circling him with the gentleness and patience of an expectant tutor. 

**_Luke, Luke, Luke;_ **

_[Use your Jedi programming!]_

**_Listen, listen, listen—_ **

"...turn right."

"Huh?"

"You asked for directions, right?" Luke retorted, patiently, waiting for Leia to warily nod before continuing, "Then turn right." 

That got him attention from Leia. "Why right?" She asked, raising an eyebrow in half-curiosity, half-confusion. He could feel the budding anger she emitted ebbing away, replaced by a restrengthened focus. 

He sighed, centering himself; feeling on the swirls of guidance around him—showing him, telling him what to do, where to go—

_“Beyond simple power, the force is. Life and death, it is—and everything in between, it controls.”_

**_Listen, listen, listen—_ **

"The force told me to." He said, opening his eyes, knowing that it twinkled a clearer blue than it had been minutes before. 

Winter looked at him part curiosity, part awe, but Leia merely pressed her lips into a thin line, taking a deep breath. "Fine." She said, tightly, taking the first step before the alley of his choosing. 

While Leia was the apparent leader, charging her way upfront while Luke and Winter followed suit, it was actually Luke who bore the title of _de facto_ Pathfinder; telling her where to turn when she hesitated, how to proceed when a closed room sounded fishy. With each new lead, he could sense her growing discomfort at his blatant trust in the Force, but she didn't voice it out loud, and so Luke kept his mouth equally shut. 

The lower levels of the building wasn't a maze nor was it a labyrinth, but it was _close,_ with odd intersections and eerily similar hallways and doors, no indication on what or who could be behind them. "This place gives me the creeps," Winter whispered, and her hushed voice was carried through by the steel walls, echoing her unease, which made her only look warier. Luke could see how Winter—usually prideful Winter, who would whine in protest whenever Leia was affectionate with her in public—awkwardly reached out for Leia's hand in an attempt to seek reassurance. 

"Left," Luke said, upon facing another intersection. Leia threw a look at him, her wariness now in full display, even as she went accordingly. Around them, the Force's hums were growing, albeit slightly. Like a blooming anticipation.

"You know, we've been going around this for a while." Leia said, her off-handed tone too airy to be perceived as genuinely casual, and her breathings were starting to sound laborious. "I'm wondering if the Force has told you where exactly we're heading."

The thrumming around him grew more urgent, more anticipatory, more… excited. "Not really, but—" **_listen here follow us yes that's good…_ ** "it's close; I can _feel_ it." 

She halted just as they reached the next turn, turning at Luke with narrowed eyes. He could feel her exasperation growing, slowly transforming from annoyance into something else that was just a tad more than irritation… "gonna need a little more than feeling here, buddy—"

**_Luke listen listen listen—_ **

"—mmph!" 

**_Bingo._ **

_"Leia!"_

Someone was touching his sister. No— _worse;_ someone was trying to muffle her mouth, clamping his hand over her face out of nowhere. 

Luke didn't even think—he went on instinct; immediately manipulating the Force to making a shoving movement as hard as he could muster. . "Get your hands away from my _sister."_ He threatened, foregoing the Jedi calamity in defense of Leia's wellbeing. From his peripheral, he could see Winter raising her double blasters in reflex, fingers ready to fire. 

Under the red lights, the man groaned in pain, crouching over his torso. He wore a fancy white suit, suggesting prominence and power, but in that second he looked like a man dethroned and disgraced, like a man lost. "No, no, stop, _wait!"_

Leia's force presence ticked, and Luke glanced at her as she turned sharply, her own blaster drawn. 

_"Lando?!"_

"Wait, you _know_ him?" Winter asked, moving forward with no less alert than before, though her eyes were now glancing at their sister. 

"Yes!" The man— _Lando,_ was that his name?—said in exasperation. "I'm Lando Calrissian, the Governor of this goddamn planet!" 

Leia made a noise of displeased affirmation. “He’s the one who _sold me out,”_ She said, voice more of a hiss than anything else, and Luke watched the man squirm at the blunt words she had spoken. She was walking closer, blaster only an inch away from his temple as she growled, “What. do you. _want?”_

Around her, Luke could feel her Force presence swirling and unfurling, irritation continuously escalating into something uncomfortably familiar, something that reminded him of how he himself had felt in _the cave._

_Cold, with just the wrong kind of sharpness that pricked his nerves, fear and anger and weariness mixing together into one…_

“Leia,” he said softly, and though his saber was still raised, he was now focusing more on her, and her tense force presence. He placed a hand over her shoulder, trying to send soothing feelings through their connection, and was relieved to find her easing, however slight. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were—I don’t know—Imps finding their way here, I guess?” Said Lando, as Winter, too, came forward, taking a protective stance besides Leia. “I was just—being cautious. I meant no harm, I swear.” He raised both his hands, a sign of surrender. 

Raising her eyebrows, Leia only pushed her blaster forward, so its mouth touched Lando’s forehead. “Given our last predicament, I find it very hard to believe _that.”_ She said, still glaring at him sharply. 

“Please.” Lando pleaded, looking at Leia with wide eyes. “I—I know what I did was wrong, but it was either you or my people—all the people of this _planet.”_ He softly said, “surely you _understand.”_

Her shoulders tensed, and Luke could spot miniscule changes within her expressions. There was lingering anger, there, and hurt, and betrayal—but there was also… sympathy. And understanding. He could almost _feel_ the gears in her brain moving, thinking, deliberating, before she slowly, slowly lowered down her weapon; not too much to give Lando an impression that he was completely off the hook, but just… enough to ease him into talking. “What do you want, then? What are you doing here?” She asked, sharply, though there was significantly less malice compared to the way she spoke to him before. 

“I was—” Lando took a deep breath, “I was—trying to fix things. Make it right.” He said, looking up to them with regretful eyes. “kind of thought it was obvious since I barged into your dinner with Vader—”

“You mean the dinner you _sold me to—”_

Winter turned sharply to Leia. “You had dinner with _Vader?!”_ She said, alarmed, worry and fear evident in her tone. 

Leia bristled. “Hardly a dinner, more of a death battle.” She said, darkly, her free hand twitching—Luke supposed the memory was hardly pleasant. 

Once again, Winter whipped her head sharply, this time to the man at the end of their line of fire. “You _sold_ my _sister_ to a _death battle_ with _Vader?!”_ She shrieked, sounding audibly distressed and angered as she raised her blaster, eyes zeroing at Lando so sharply, her fingers slowly pulling the trigger—

Lando’s eyes widened in fear as he turned sharply to Winter, hands raised higher seemingly to emphasize his surrender. “No, no, no, _please—”_

**_No Luke let him speak wait listen to us—_ **

“Winter, wait.” Said Luke, moving forward to put himself between Lando and Winter. _“Wait.”_ he repeated, glancing at Winter warily, feeling the force around him gleefully nodding in affirmation. “Let him talk.” 

The youngest of them all looked at him skeptically, but then Leia sighed, wearily, startling all of them. “Luke’s right.” She said, blinking one, two, and was Luke hallucinating or did she sway slightly in her stance? “Just… talk, Lando. And make it quick.” 

_Was she truly okay?_

Lando lowered down his hands, slowly and deliberately. "I… while discussing the, uh, dinner, I—" He said, his tone cautious, "I overheard Fett… talking about his share with Vader." He took a deep breath. "While Vader would acquire you, Princess—" Lando threw a wary look at Leia, who in turn stared right back at him defiantly. "Fett would… Well, he would get _Han._ Hand him to Jabba for quite a bounty, he said." Lando grimaced. "And both of them weren't at the dining room when I came back to check after the fight." 

Luke could feel Leia's force presence flaring, anger and panic mixing to one upon the mere mention of Han. He squeezed her shoulder tighter, trying to reign her turmoils despite feeling dread himself. "what does that have to do with anything?" He asked Lando before Leia could, partially to speed up the talking, but also to prevent her from snapping. 

"If you know how Hutts work long enough, you'll notice that he likes his preys _displayed."_ Said Lando, carefully emphasizing the last word. "Like a trophy of victory."

_"I once visited Jabba's throne room to bargain, in my youth." Said grandpa Cliegg as four-year old Luke sat on his lap. The old man shook his head, caressing Luke soft, blonde locks with a weary, wrinkly hand._

_"Really?" Luke responded, fascinated. Unlike uncle Owen, who talked only when he needed to, and Aunt Beru, who spoke to him like he was made of many fragile things, Grandpa Cliegg was a storyteller, bearing tales of the desert most others would preferably ignore. And he never shied away from telling Luke the gritty parts of the stories he delivered. "What's in there?"_

_"A lot of disgusting things." Said grandpa Cliegg, scrunching his nose. "There was a section of the room called the halls of faces. They're just lines of—" he stopped, abruptly. His face contorted into a grimace, eyes dimming._

_"Grandpa Cliegg?"_

_"Nevermind."_

Leia's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Luke—Luke, who had grown up on a planet with the slug clan as their effective government, who had listened to the plights of runaway slaves and hiding smugglers about the horrors of Jabba's ways, the macabre sight of his throne room—had immediately _understood._

"Carbon freeze." He said, breathlessly, swallowing the budding bile rising to his throat. 

"What?" 

"We had an old factory-grade carbonizer stored on _this floor,_ in the broiler room. Fett knows this." Said Lando, looking intently at Luke's direction. Luke had a feeling that he was deliberately omitting _how_ exactly did Fett obtain such knowledge. "An artifact from Mandalore—I think—" his face contorted into something akin to shame and regret, "I think Fett plans to freeze Han there." 

The change on Leia's force presence was so immediate it almost caused him a whiplash; dread and tension now filled her entire system, and Luke could almost taste the fear, pure and all-consuming, unfurling around her. "No." She said, softly—way too softly—as she shook her head, taking a step back. "No, Force, _no—"_

_"Machine's a barbarian." Uncle Owen gruffly said, after he denied a Jawa's request to fix a scavenged carbonizer. "I ain't gonna take part of that."_

_"What's 'barbarian'?" Luke, ten years old, asked curiously, as he tinkered with the junkshop's spare trial bot._

_Uncle Owen usually wouldn't answer his question, and Luke was fully prepared of being ignored, as always, so he was surprised when uncle Owen said, "means the machine's kriffing evil."_

_Luke blinked, surprised. Uncle Owen must have meant it, because he said a bad word, one that Aunt Beru would usually scold him for when she was around._

_"You think it just freezes people, but it's more than that, kiddo. It… it makes its victims endure; every single second in that machine as their cells slowly turn to ice while they're wide awake…" uncle Owen shivered. "The pain… when you see the victims." He said, almost too quietly. "It looks like they're doomed to feel it forever."_

There was a reason why it became Jabba's favorite method. Han enduring that… he couldn't even stomach it.

"That's where you were heading?" Asked Luke, trying his best to reign all his calamity and patience despite his increasing heartbeat. Lando nodded again, slowly standing up as the Skywalker-Organa family slowly lowered their weapons. "The broiler room, to save Han?"

"And you couldn't have said it _faster?"_ Added Winter, not even trying to hide just how incredulous and anxious she was, eyes wide as she glared at the Governor. 

Lando threw Winter a protesting look, "I'm trying my best to be diplomatic, here—" 

"Well clearly your _best_ isn't anywhere near good nor effective—" 

"Just—" Leia cut the bickering off before it could even escalate, and Luke turned at her, seeing how her eyes were now brimming with unshed tears, glassy under the dim lightings. "Just—go, alright? Lead us the way there." 

The disgraced governor opened his mouth, eyebrows scrunched, but then he halted, seemingly reconsidering before finally snapping his mouth shut before even uttering a word, and instead turned, motioning for Luke, Leia, and Winter to follow him. 

"Hey." Luke said to Leia, as Winter raced upfront, walking on Lando's side, gun angle as sharp as her glare to him. "You okay?" 

"You keep asking that." Leia said, exasperation evident in her tone, but she didn't resist when Luke took her arm to his, acting as her propeller to straighten her swaying steps. 

"It's called watching out for my sibling's wellbeing, Lei-Lei. You should try it sometimes." 

Leia snorted at him. "Oh, I'm doing that all the time, Lu-Lu," she said, turning at him with narrowed eyebrows. "I just have a brother who doesn't listen and a sister who's dense as hell, so I figured it's kind of moot at this point." 

Shooting her an incredulous look, Luke felt his annoyance flaring. "I came here to _help_ you." He said, tension steadily rising. 

“And what a great job you’ve done.” Leia said, her voice almost breathless with all the emotions outpouring from her hiss. “You know, Luke, you have just one thing to do; stay put wherever you are, learn the Force; the space mumbo-jumbo, the galaxy’s hottest magic trick—”

“It’s not _some magic trick,_ have you been listening to Han—?” 

“Then why didn’t you _stay?!”_ Leia snapped, somehow still using a low voice despite her heated tone and her shaky voice. “You could’ve—could’ve been _safe_ there; instead you’re here now, playing some sort of a hero and—and walking straight to the Empire’s trap for your goddamn _head!”_

A beat passed. Then two, as Luke looked at Leia, stunned at the pain spreading through his chest, stinging sharper than a stab wound. 

Something ugly reared its head within Luke’s chest, growling in tandem with the Force that had been whispering to him since his arrival. Suddenly, the swirls guiding him seemed less warmer, more cunning; **_how dare she say that how dare she disrespected you don’t you want to show her what we are capable of don’t you don’t you don’t you—_ **

But then Leia took a shuddering, sharp breath, and— _wait._

Luke blinked; once, twice, trying to recenter himself, trying to look at her— _really_ look at her, as she heaved and looked at him with scrunched, glassy eyes.

And then he _realized._

_The base at Hoth. Leia, screaming out bloody murder at everybody in her sight, her eyes equally scrunched, equally glossy; her posture tense and rigid, and her force presence—_

_Fear fear fear fear fear—_

The sharp jab was intentional; not careless words thrown out of anger, but deliberate sentences to rouse reaction out of him. She was picking a fight, he quickly realized; trying to annoy him so they could bicker. 

And she could pretend. 

She could pretend to not feel _afraid._

“Leia.” He said, and this time he was—not calm, not really, because it did sting, and the realization didn’t make the hurt any less real, but—calmer, as he gazed at her, blue eyes meeting brown. “I’m not going to fight with you.” He said, going as gentle as he could. “You don’t have to—do that, okay? You don’t have to _deflect.”_

_I’m right here. You don’t have to put your guards up. You don’t have to shove it in._

His sister gaped, then, and for a split second Luke could almost _feel_ the gears in her head turning, thinking, as her guards lowered down, letting him to the slightest glimpse of the turmoils currently waging an onslaught to her conscience and _oh boy._

**_Fear grief anger despair growing escalating to unimaginable pain…_ **

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Argh!” 

The ricocheting shot shocked him—and _her,_ who immediately slammed her walls back shut. They turned upfront, saber and blaster ready, to see that Winter had kneeled on the ground, Lando half-propelling her with one hand while his other hand raised his weapon—

—at the masked bounty hunter— _Fett?_ —holding a slab of—of—

_“Han!”_

The sight before him was—grim, to say the least; for there was an imprint of Han’s face, of Han’s entire body, frozen in time as he crouched in agony, encased by the carbon around him. Under the dim, red lights, it almost looked like he was part of the myths told by Grandpa Cliegg, of men doomed to eternal torture. 

_"You think it just freezes people, but it's more than that, kiddo. It… it makes its victims endure; every single second in that machine as their cells slowly turn to ice while they're wide awake…"_

“I would advise on being less louder, next time. Takes away the element of surprise.” Said the man, tone even and calm, and even a little bit _amused,_ with his blaster still raised. Luke could sense no hesitation coming from his Force-presence. 

His eyes kept being dragged back to Han; face contorting in pure pain, scrunching up in a way that was beyond unpleasant—

A screech echoed through the walls, drowning all the other voices, and there was a gush of wind, a sign of quick movement. He turned sharply to see his sister, his twin, had left his side, running headfirst to the bounty hunter with little to no care for her surroundings, to herself. She raised her blaster high, lack of hesitation and deliberation bleeding through her as—

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

_“Leia!”_

Time slowed down for Luke, somehow; narrowing into those nanoseconds where Leia’s bullets grazed the hunter’s armor but not _maim him,_ where in return, the hunter had drawn his own blasters, aiming for fire—

_“Fuck!”_

Crumpled down and bleeding. His sister was _bleeding;_ her light-colored suit blooming scarlet on her arm and her inner thigh.

“Feisty.” Said Fett, blaster pointed straight at her head as she looked up, hissing in pain while clutching her arm—her _bleeding arm—_ “I see why _he_ wants you. Too little tact for my liking, but—” He pushed the mouth of his blaster to her temple, touching her skin, and Luke could feel his blood simmering, heating—

**_He’s going to kill her he’s going to hurt her he’s going to hurt all of who you hold dear—_ **

**_You know you must use me you know you can’t win without—_ **

“If _he_ wants _his_ playthings spirited, who am I to judge?” 

**_—Me._ **

He barely registered the zing of his lightsaber as he poured all his might to it, bending all the Force that would answer to his call under his command; barely realized as he charged forward, running past Lando, past Winter—

_(“Easily they flow, quick to join you.”)_

Fett barely blocked Luke’s strike in time. “Get away—” He hissed, his saber meeting Fett’s (impenetrable?) armor, each resisting the other from striking a fatal blow. “From my _sister.”_

 _“Jedi.”_ The man hissed, voice distorted by his helmet, and—before Luke could predict it—punched his Lightsaber away, startling him, and in his moment of weakness landed another punch, this time to his _gut,_ sending Luke several steps backwards, heaving. “I thought your kind has _extincted.”_

He was still standing straight, and his gun was still glued on Leia’s head. Luke clutched his saber tighter, mind racing because _the man just resisted his attack, his armor could withstand his lightsaber—_

“A step forward,” Fett threatened, and it was only then did Luke realize that his feet were moving, inching closer once more— “and I will _blow_ your sister’s brain _off.”_

He sensed no hesitation on Fett's part, and a tangled mess of fear and anger from Leia, Winter and Lando, and Luke took a deep breath this time, reigning all the force, feeling the dread and panic fueling him—

_("Anger… fear… aggression. Those are the dark side of the force.”)_

This time, he he didn't run—he _jumped;_ leaped from where he stood as high as he could, boosted by the Force swirling around him, using the act to catch Fett off guard and the momentum to power his foot instead of saber, aiming it straight to the helmeted face—

When Fett hit the steel walls, it dented on his body's imprint, groaning as he did so, and Luke huffed as he landed, feeling the budding, bursting, _chaotic_ energy _blooming_ through him—

**_See you can beat him you can save her save them only with me—_ **

Fett stood up, swaying a bit, but Luke was _relentless;_ he ran to Fett's direction, saber fully raised, and made a slashing motion at an uncovered spot that Fett could barely duck from, eliciting a sharp groan of pain from the hunter—

_He got Han don't let him get Leia and Winter he got Han don't let him get my sisters—_

"I thought your religion forbids aggregating their opponents?" He wheezed, voice strained and throaty—

_("A Jedi uses the force for knowledge and defense—Never for an attack.”)_

Luke seized up, snapping slightly at the slight realization—

_wait what was going on which side did I use—_

**_Does it matter does it matter does it matter—_ **

And the next thing he knew, a two-forked staff barely missed sawing it's way to his left torso, tearing the fabric of his clothes and deeply wounding the skin instead. 

_"Luke!"_

_"Kriff!"_ Luke cursed, clutching his abdomen as he gritted his teeth, trying to hold the pain in. His saber clang loudly on the floor, and Fett heaved, his pants echoing through the steely walls. 

_The attack took a toll on him._ Luke realized, blinking amidst the haze of pain. He looked at Fett, then Leia, and then Winter, and then Lando, and then—

 _Han;_ pushed aside to the background, his carbonite slab rolling over helplessly as the battle raged around him. 

**_Finish him_** **_boy don't you want to finish him for hurting your friend for hurting your sister—_**

 _"Gah!"_

Foregoing saber, foregoing _blasters,_ Luke opted for a more traditional, crude way of charging onto Fett, headfirst, tackling him with his own body, toppling him over, ignoring the sharp stings of pain from his fresh wound as he tried to smother Fett with his own _weight._

"Lei, _go!"_ Said Luke, calling all the force who would answer, begging for their help to pin the man below him. He turned wildly at his sister, who was frozen on her spot, looking at Luke with wide horror eyes. "Take Han and _go!"_

"But what about—"

**_You?_ **

Fett was resisting. Luke wouldn't be able to hold him off much longer. "Fucking _go,_ Leia!" 

_I came here to help you._

_Let me help you._

There was a nanosecond of silence that seemed to stretch out to forever, but then Leia stood up and bolted, amazingly quick for someone who was walking with a _limp,_ grabbing the carbonite's handle and before hauling Winter, whispering something Luke couldn't quite catch and letting her little sister lean to her for support. "Lando!" She barked, then, and the mentioned Governor seized up at the rather harsh call, "show us the way _out!"_

Luke held on as Fett snarled, trying not to think about the dizzying pain of his wound being scratched by Fett's sharp armor edges. He spared one last look at Leia, who was impressively sprinting even with uneven steps, an equally-limping sister on her side, and cargo dragged behind her. She glanced at him in return, with tearfully wary eyes before she disappeared down the corner, following Lando. 

**_Come back to me,_ **her voice echoed through the Force, getting its way to him. 

Luke wanted to strengthen her, wanted to affirm her wishes, but—

_"Don't make promises you don't know how to keep, Lu-Lu." Said Aunt Beru, tapping Luke's nose lightly. "Better tell them the truth than get their hopes up for nothing."_

Yet _Leia_ , his sister, his twin, his literal _half,_ was looking at him like her faith on life rested on his answer, and he couldn't let her down, couldn't crush her like that, so—

_I'll try._

When he blinked, Leia was already gone. 

It was only then did Luke relented, and that split second was apparently enough to let Fett spring back up, pushing Luke away to the sides as he peered wildly to the hallways Leia had disappeared. He was about two steps forward when Luke crawled from his spot, grabbed his long abandoned lightsaber, and lit it up—

_"Kriff!"_

He was silently thankful for all the times Leia forced him and Han to sit through Riekaan's lectures of armory mechanics, because now he could locate a weak spot just near Fett's right knee, and _pushed_ his lightsaber _through._

A lightsaber wound was cauterized, and so it was bloodless, but Luke could still see the tremors of shock going through Fett's system as he registered the attack, crumbling down while looking at his knee then at Luke, before growling a rather otherworldly sound that seemed to vibrate pure anger. 

In a small part of his mind, Luke knew that the anger was supposed to revolt him, but instead he felt sickeningly _gleeful_ responding to it, for an unknown reason that made his stomach _churn—_

_(“If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny; consume you, it will—”)_

"That was my _payment."_ said Fett, his voice grovelling and hissing as he crawled to Luke, armored hand reaching, graping to the frayed ends of Luke's shirt. 

"That's my _friend."_ Luke challenged rather breathlessly, swinging his saber-wielding hand back to prepare an upfront sweep to the hunter's torso. Fett, in turn, snarled and took luke by surprise, snatching his left leg and pulling him down, falling to a loud, painful _thud_ that made his eyes saw stars. 

_Fuck,_ was what Luke thought, as Fett’s figure loomed over him, pitchfor-wielding hand ready to ram him with the dual blade at the end of the staff. He scrunched his eyes, braced himself for the impact, thinking about his sisters, his friends—

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—_

_"No."_

Luke opened his eyes. 

_Cold._

He felt… _cold;_ a temperature drop several degrees below—unfurling and raging around him like frostbites at Hoth's frozen terrains. It suffocated him, taking him off guard as he revelled in the sensation that eerily felt all too-familiar with the Force-field he himself had tapped mere seconds ago. 

_Cold._

_(“I feel… cold.”)_

And amidst all that... _death._

_(“That place… strong with the Dark, it is.”)_

But it was more than that; it felt… _more;_ more than just grim, bottomless pit. It felt like—

**_Relief Longing Love—_ **

And—

**_Protect protect protect—_ **

Luke sensed him before he _saw him,_ but that was partially because his eyes were glued to Fett, who no longer had his foot glued to the ground. No; the man was now floating mid-air, suspended by an unknown force.

But its bender… 

_"Fett."_

Slowly, slowly, he turned to the source of the booming, bellowing voice. 

Darth Vader stood, at just the cusp of the hallway, his lit, bright red saber the only thing shining light to his shadow, obscured movement. He was silent, save for the laboring _sshh-sshh-sshh_ sound coming out of his respirator. 

“Lord—” Gasped Fett, voice chortling and undignified, and for the first time Luke could sense _fear;_ pure and unfiltered, oozing off him. “Lord _Vader—”_

"I told you—" he said, finally, his mechanical voice obscured and _murderous._ "Not to take beyond what you've been _given."_

“They took—Solo—”

“Silence.”

“We had—a _deal—”_

_“Silence.”_

His gloved arm was extended, and it was only  _ then  _ did Luke register the revolting  _ crunch  _ echoing through the steely walls, as Fett’s helmet cracked, his armory dented, his strangled gasp daunting and haunting as the bounty hunter fell, crumbling. 

Luke felt a life force greatly diminishing, a presence suddenly snuffed out. He couldn't get his eyes off Fett's still form, laying haphazardly on the ground. 

_ Motionless.  _

Had Vader  _ killed him?  _

It took Luke a while to snap out of his terrorized reverie, and it was because of another bellowing, booming, mechanical voice, calling out his name with such a daunting, haunting tone; 

"Luke _Skywalker."_

 _Fuck._ Luke thought, as he scrambled away, crawling on his back as he forced his feet and hands to comply to his demands, ignoring the excruciating pain on his abdomen as he tried to stand up, to _run. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—_

He managed to stand, and managed to take two, three long, haphazard steps in an attempt for an escape before something, _something stopped him._

**_Rage fear despair—_ **

**_Protect protect protect—_ **

"Stop," he could hear Vader, voice muffled and fast approaching, as he struggled to break free from the invisible grip, from the goddamn _Force,_ encasing him. 

_Focus, Luke, focus,_ he forced himself; _feel the way the wind blows, the way the energy swirls..._

_[Use your Jedi programming!]_

There was a defying _crash,_ not heard but _felt,_ as Luke finally broke free, only meters away from Vader as he bolted his steps, not looking back. He could hear Vader's surprised hiss, muffled and distant, as his feet carried him further from the madman. 

Part of him wanted to stop, wanted to turn back and lit his saber, challenge Vader to a duel of fates for _everything_ he had ever done to him—

_(Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, their charred flesh hiding very little of the bones beneath—_

_Ben, choking his last breath, using the little strength he had left to shoo Luke, to warn him to safety—_

_Leia, crying on her knees as she mourned for a Planet erased, a home destroyed, an entire civilization—her family, her people—murdered—_

_And then father; the parents he never knew; the Jedi in Ben's stories, the man in Leia's visions. The family he was supposed to own—_

_"He was killed, Luke." Said Ben, mournfully, when Luke had asked in his humbled hut. "smothered to non-existence by Vader's own hands—")_

But another part of him—another part that didn't sound like it was _entirely him—_ begged to see reason. 

**_(you promised Leia._ **

**_You promised you would try.)_ **

_("A Jedi uses the force for knowledge and defense—Never for an attack.”)_

So he ran; listened to his hunch—the Force's guidance—and ran; left and right as he felt probes—was it just him or were the probes gentler, more careful, an attempt to grab more than destroy?—that he barely managed to escape, each and every single one of them. 

"Luke, stop!" Said Vader—and since when we're they on a first name basis? Why did Vader sound so _friendly_ to him? "wait—"

There was an elevator at the end of the hallway, and Luke swept himself in, slamming the close button before pressing the highest floor available—58th.

Vader only just made it to the turn leading to the elevator when the door slammed _shut,_ and Luke exhaled, shuddering his breath, feeling his nerves tingling and his adrenaline coursing through his body. He could feel the sting of his wounds, steadily rising, trying his best to hold it in—

(49, 50, 51—)

_He would get help when they get out of here, when they—_

(54, 55, 56—)

_Crash!_

The elevator just shook, the floor rumbling, eliciting a yelp from Luke as he ignited his lightsaber, his mind going a single string of _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ as he stared down at the floor he stood upon, watching one of the corners cracked and dented in slow-motion, making an opening—

And then there was a hand; a gloved-hand, climbing up, and suddenly there rose, from the depth of the elevator shaft—

_Vader._

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

“Luke Skywalker,” Said Vader, and there the man _stood,_ at the opposite corner of the elevator as it died down, the damages probably affecting the wires, the circuits. Luke stared at the indicator of the floor he was currently at—

_58._

But why won’t the door _open?_

 _Help me,_ he begged to the Force, as he smashed the open button, over and over again; _help me help me help—_

Yet the Force—that blasted, _damned_ Force—instead sang _gleefully_ as Vader took another step closer to him, in that small elevator compartment; as if their meeting was meant to be, a wonderful, joyous occasion. 

“Get away from me,” Said Luke, snarling, feeling the anger and fear rising into one, his voice of reason growing dimmer and dimmer, the voice that told him to consider safety, to consider _Leia,_ replaced with a much more sinister one, whispering—

**_Beat him now and this would end. You strike him now, and his horror would all end; Leia would be safe…_ **

“You—” Said Vader, taking another step forward. He spoke evenly, with the unchangeable tone from his modulator, “You are _injured.”_

_Why did Luke feel like Darth Vader was… concerned?_

“I said _get away from me!”_ Luke yelled, feeling the edge of anger and desperation prickle his nerves, seeping to his veins, beating his heart, saber raised threateningly. 

_He would not initiate an attack. He will not—_

**_But don’t you want to take him don’t you want to for the bloods he had spilled for the sins he had committed—_ **

“Luke—” 

Hearing his own name, tumbling from Vader’s modulated mask, somehow made his blood boil with anger. He slashed his saber, to which Vader immediately blocked with his own, but the man made no move other than to resist. “You have no _right_ to call me _that.”_ He said, hissing sharply. “You and I are _enemies.”_

_(Uncle Owen Aunt Beru Ben—_

_Father Father Father—)_

Just then, the elevator finally made a loud _ding!_ And the door opened; just in time for Luke to break the saber contact, backing off outside, trying to put some distance between him and Vader. Throwing a breathless glance around, he realized that the ceiling was made of glass, directly showing the sky—which meant he was just _one floor_ beneath the hangar. 

Freedom was so _close,_ and all he had to do was to distract the man a little more before he could secure an opening to escape—

“I have _every_ right.”

Snapped short from his reverie, Luke's attention returned to the Dark Lord before him. His words, sharp as they were, seemed to have found their way to irk Vader’s system, because he could feel flares of newfound anger adding to the old pile, swirling dangerously within the Force. "I have _every right."_ He repeated—no, growled, for even his modulator could not hide how low and grovelly his voice was, how menacing and dangerous. 

“Fuck you,” Luke spat, his anger and desperation feeding from Vader’s, a bubbling, simmering loop of overlapping emotions, storming around the Force that he had never felt before with other opponents. He was slowly losing his reasoning on why he shouldn’t strike, why he shouldn’t attack—

**_Don’t you want to don’t you want to don’t you want to—_ **

“So what do you want, huh?” He taunted, and a small part of him knew he _shouldn’t,_ knew that it felt wrong, somehow, in a horrible way that filled his chest with something akin to sickening, disgusting glee. “Come here to arrest me, kill me? Want to serve my head on a—”

“I am here to _save_ you.” 

A pause. A deafening silence.

Whatever he thought was coming out of Vader’s mouth next, he certainly didn’t expect it to be _this one._

Yet he felt _conviction_ resonated in Vader’s every word, like he truly, madly believed what he had said. The man cautiously approached Luke, his saber raised yet somehow not ready, and that only _angered_ Luke even more.

For what was this deception? What was this _trick?_

_(Why would Darth Vader want to save him?)_

“Liar.” Hissed Luke, anger emerging as champion amidst his war-torn emotions, as his mind supplied the memories of how Leia had grown pale at the sight of Vader, how she referred to her dinner with revulsion and fear, how Han stood still on that slab, a torturous display treated like a piece of _meat—_

“You don't save _anyone.”_

**_He needs to pay for the pain suffering grief don’t you think he deserves the blow you know you want to—_ **

Vader’s breathing seized up, for a split second, the _sshh-sshh-sshh_ growing out of rhythm as Luke’s verdict rolled off his tongue, jagged and damning. Luke could feel the anger around him grew larger, lashing out even more wildly. “I have _saved_ you!” The man—the _monster—_ exclaimed in a fitful anger, “I’m the only one who can _save you!”_

Luke wanted to scoff, his rebuttal ready on his tongue, sharp as his saber strikes, for _what delusion was this man into, that he would say such a thing—_

_(Vader, holding his fire, on that fateful Battle in Yavin, before diverting his power to aid Luke’s desperate shots to destroy the shields covering his target—_

_Vader, ordering for his men to stop just mere moments before, using himself to block attacks against Luke and Leia—)_

Something akin to doubt seeped to Luke’s conscience, standing alongside the fear and anger, as he lowered his saber slightly, ever so slightly, upon the recollection of the memory. 

_**(are you sure are you sure are you sure—)** _

“And how would you save me?” Luke opted to challenge instead, though his voice lacked the usual conviction and hatred that previously laced his every word. “How? Is it going to be the same way you saved _Obi-Wan?”_ Luke spat Ben’s old name, Ben’s _Jedi name,_ and _felt_ how the temperature dropped drastically, how the force seemed to prick and pressure his skin, his insides, his entire presence. 

It seemed that he had grated Vader, struck a sore nerve, because when Vader spoke again, Luke could almost taste his barely-restrained anger, the wild agitation that seemed to be all-too eager to jump out, to make itself known. "That old man is _weak._ He was frail—and he was a _traitor."_ Vader growled, and his red saber brightened, its powers—his _powers—_ oozing out promises of destruction, promises of death. "He deserves his _fate."_

Part of Luke halted, paused ever-so-slightly, upon hearing Vader’s hateful froth. This one… felt _different,_ somehow; because while his tone was changed very beneath all those rage, Luke could also feel… hurt. Betrayal. 

And _regret._

Could a Merchant of Death even _feel_ regret?

The fear for his life coursing through his system was crippling, almost enough to overpower him, if not for the spite that fueled his passion even more. For Vader had insulted _Ben;_ the man who had taken him in when there was no one else left to do so, the man who guided him in ways nobody could even understand.

**_Good, child; the passion shall fuel you, shall free you..._ **

"That old man helped me _,_ comforted me, _saved me—_ ” He rebutted, heatedly, feeling his own anger bleeding through. “Taught me how to be a _Jedi,_ a warrior of _peace.”_ He said, with a hint of pride. “but I wouldn’t expect you to understand _, Sith."_

Vader seized up, and—

Luke thought he’d felt cold before. He was wrong.

For the cold emitted by Vader’s bottomless pit of emotions was now downright _freezing,_ like invisible ice-pricks stabbing Luke’s finger with frostbites. The hand holding his own saber now felt _numb,_ and for a split second Luke wondered if this would be the final straw, if Vader would _finally_ start striking at him.

(Come to think of it, why _hadn't_ the man attacked him? 

Wasn’t that the ways of the sith?)

But Vader only held himself straighter. If anything, he was even more rigid, like he was… barricading himself. Like he was preventing himself from doing something stupid, something he might regret. 

"The Jedis are _weak."_ He hissed, voice straining, and even his modulator couldn’t hide the barely-restrained turmoil accompanying his words. Around them, machines shook; pipes cracked, and glasses shattered from all the mishmash of emotions warring within the tension between them. "Their ways are _pathetic, corruptible_ , and they couldn't save _her—"_ he continued, his tone derailing, inching closer to something akin to madness, "but I will save you, I will save you _both—"_

Something in Luke’s gut twisted, knotted so tightly he felt he could snap. 

_Both._ Vader had said _both._

"What the fuck are you talking about?" 

( _His mind wandered to Leia; Leia curling up as she whimpered, shivering. “Please, no, stop it, please—” her breath stuttering, her hair matting to her forehead, glued by cold sweat, “Get out of my head, get out, get out, get out—”_

_Leia, trying to swallow bile in the alliance briefings, her eyes glued to the masked holo-projection of Vader everytime he was mentioned, her hand cold as she grasped his for support—)_

What did he _know?_

Luke glared at the holes of Vader's mask, where his eyes were supposed to be, and prepared himself for a blow; any blow, his nerves and the Force around him tingling with anticipation—

"Join me." 

—but even all that couldn't prepare him for Vader's next words.

The offer registered dimly to Luke; sinking slowly amidst his growing panic, which only added more to the confusion he was feeling. 

"...what?" 

_This has got to be a joke. Some elaborate trick. There was no way the Emperor's hand was asking him to—_

"Join me in the ways of sith," Vader repeated, and Luke felt his eyes growing as wide as saucers, trying to figure out what the _hell_ was going on, "join me and you will be saved—"

Luke blinked; once—twice. This was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. "Are you kriffing insane—" 

"Together we can overthrow the Emperor, we can cheat the ways of death—"

_What was going on?_

"You're crazy—"

"—and we can conquer the galaxy in our grip; you, me, and _Leia_ as _—"_

Time stopped.

Everything froze.

Because Vader had said his sister's _name._

Vader knew about Leia. Vader knew about Leia. Vader knew about Leia and he wanted to—

He wanted to—

_("I'm sorry," Leia croaked, hoarsely, leaning over the toilet bowl as she wiped her mouth. Luke caressed her head as he pressed the flush button, carefully not watching the insides of her gut being doused away._

_"You don't have to be sorry for having a nightmare." Said Luke, softly, as he hauled her up, giving her a glass of water._

_Leia shook her head, mouth wobbling as she spoke. "It's stupid. It's been so long and it's—" she she laughed, hysterically, her cackle mixing with sobs. "Why can't I get over it? Why am I still haunted by that stupid cyborg and his stupid torture?" She asked, desperately clutching to him as Luke caressed her, carded through her loose locks._

_He didn't have an answer.)_

Next thing he knew, his blade was raised high, and Luke was running headfirst to Vader, his pent up aggression breaking apart, lashing out anger at the mention of his sister's name from Vader's filthy, cursed mouth. 

For he had hurt her once, and Darth Vader had _no right_ demanding anything from Leia Organa—least of all her _allegiance._

"Don't you _dare_ say her _name."_ He said, hissing as he clashed his saber to Vader, seemingly startling the man because he staggered back, his defense against him shaky and surprised. "I won't let you corrupt her, I won't join you—"

Vader was stunned. And then he was enraged, as he pushed back to Luke, responding in kind. "Then you will _die!"_ He declared, flashes of anger emitting so thick in the Force Luke felt it could very well suffocate him.

(And yet the statement didn't feel like a raging threat. If anything, it was closer to a panicked warning.

Why would Darth Vader _warn him?)_

Luke slashed again, aiming for Vader's arm this time and was surprised to find wires instead of flesh, fraying instead of bleeding. Vader didn't flinch nor did he hiss, and Luke wondered how many parts of him were human, or if there was even any at all. 

"In your hands, the way you did Obi-Wan?" Luke taunted, as he staggered back, the adrenaline in his body doping higher and higher, feeding through his emotions. Vader flinched, this time, just like he always had in the mentions of Luke's old Master.

 _Guilt,_ Luke realized, then. 

It was guilt. 

Something inside him triumphed, and Luke, aided by the increasingly chaotic whispers surrounding him— **_push his buttons Luke make him as angry as you feel right now_ ** _—_ one upped his taunting with;

"The way you did my _father?"_

Pause.

Something within Vader, something that had been continuously stretched into a thin line throughout their encounter, finally _snapped—_

And the gut feeling telling Luke that he would be safe had dissipated with it. 

"...what."

"I know." Luke said, shakily, because suddenly, without the whispers of reassurance from the Force, he could taste his fear in multiplied magnitude, and everything around him felt even more acute, even more _damning._

"Ben—Obi-Wan had told me _enough._ "

Had his wounds always felt this sharp and painful?

"What did he tell you?" Vader stalked forward, saber raised, and this time Luke sensed _nothing_ holding him back; no self-preservation, no awareness, just pure, unadulterated _rage._

When Luke didn't answer, Vader pounced; an attack to Luke's side; long and sharp, adding a large, cauterized gash over his already bleeding torso. _"What did he tell you?!"_

"He told me you _killed him!"_ Luke exclaimed, wincing in pain as he clutched his side with one hand, his other one blocking Vader's saber assault, left and right and up and down— "That he _died_ in your hands, and that you would do the same to _me!"_

"That's a _lie!"_ Vader roared, and this time he didn't even _use_ the saber; his fist kriffing _punched_ Luke, square on his right eye, causing the boy to be pushed backwards, groaning audibly. Crawling on his back, he reached for the stairs leading up to the hangar with one hand, another holding the man back with a weakened attempt at lightsaber defense. his eyes were wildly blown, ever vigilant for Vader's split-second movements, and even then in wasn't enough to counter all of the relentless assault. 

_"Not ready, you are." Yoda said, when Luke begged the Master to let him search for Leia. "for unimaginable powers, the Darth holds."_

(maybe Yoda was right, after all.)

"That's a lie—" Luke felt a searing, blinding pain, slashing through his side, "he lied to you, he corrupted _you,"_ stab, punch, "just like he corrupted _her—"_

 _"Argh!"_

It happened so _fast._

One second he still felt his right hand, clutching his saber as he tried to par Vader's attack with his own, and the next second he _couldn't feel his hand._

Luke gasped, pain running through him like never before. He sharply turning his head to his side, wildly checking on his arm—

To find that it was no longer there.

His arm was _gone._ Cut off; _gone._

Vader had completely severed his _arm._

"I did not kill your father." The mechanical, modulated voice was dim and faraway when it sank on him. Around them, the force stormed, swirling in tandem with Luke's heartbeat, as if preparing him for an unacceptable, yet undeniable _truth—_

"I _am_ your father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I was planning to put up both Luke's and Leia's part, but then i realized that Luke's part... is 24 pages long.... so i guess i gotta cut this AGAIN holy shit Bespin is so intense what the hell???? But anyway I know this chapter is messy and i will (probably) get back to re-edit it and adjust the formatting but I just wanna give y'all an update to... idk brighten up your day??? because I know how much has corona been kicking my ass with the boredom and stuff lmao
> 
> stay safe and don't forget to wash your hands!!!


	11. eleven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey would you look at that... an update. sorry for taking a while! it's ramadan for me which means a lot of fasting and praying and not a lot of time to make fics... and previously i just scraped 20 pages worth of this chapter bc i wasn't satisfied with hoy it was going. still isn't that satisfied with this one, too, but it felt significantly better than the last one. i hope you enjoy it!

Leia had gone to plenty of covert Alliance missions; she’d gone to the hearts of battles, had fought and hid and got injured in order to carry out her mandates. She might bear the title Princess, but her experience in the field was almost on par with Luke, and definitely much more than most.

Suffice to say, very little could surprise Leia Organa at this point, rendering her speechless.

At least that was what she thought during the final ride in the elevator, rising up, up, _up,_ away from the lower level— _away from Luke—_ as she took a deep breath and tore fabrics from her overflowing vest with one hand, using it for bandaging her wounds and her sister’s. 

She wouldn’t be surprised. _She had passed the stage of being surprised,_ she thought, as the elevator dinged, and she turned to see the world above, fully prepared on taking the step outside, taking the step to _freedom._

_All she had to do now was to walk a little more to the Falcon, then she could catch a break and just—_

_Just wait for Luke to—_

But still, no matter how much she steeled herself, no matter how low she put her expectations—

_“Force.”_

Surprise, surprise. 

The latest twist of her fight was just above _them;_ a sight so clear to see—a gargantuan Imperial warship hovered still just at the cusp of the hangar, blocking the view of the darkening sky; a vessel Leia had grown to know so well over the years, had seen it constantly on mission reports and Alliance meetings.

Her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit, somewhere deep and twisting in her gut.

Vader had brought _The Executor_ with him.

Leia had never felt her body so locked up, so rigid the way she felt like now—immediately taking a sharp inhale of breath as she instinctively tried to hide back to the elevator, pulling Han’s carbonite with her as she pressed herself at the steely walls. “You didn’t tell me.” She turned her head to Lando, hissing as she felt panic rising steadily within her system. “You didn’t tell me Vader’s bringing his _warship.”_

The governor spluttered, awkwardly nervous as he slowly, slowly backed off at the end of the elevator. “I mean—it never really came up, so—” 

Hearing this, Leia couldn’t help but to laugh—wheezing quietly at the whole absurdity of her situation, her laughter void of any humor. “Great.” She said, breathlessly hysterical as her eyes darted from Lando, to the ship hovering right at the end of their sight. “Isn’t this just _great.”_

“Princess, I swear, I didn’t mean to—” 

“What are those?”

Whatever Lando was about to say, Leia promptly ignored him in favor of turning to her sister’s direction; her sister—who, at that moment, instead chose to slowly, slowly limp outside, as if in a trance. “Winter,” Leia whispered urgently, forcing herself to use her bad hand to grab her, preventing her from walking outside. “Winter, get back _here—”_

“Are those—” Winter’s breath hitched, fear lacing her tone as she slowly stepped out of the elevator, fully taking in the sight of the hangar before her. “Are those—?”

The younger princess stopped dead just right after the opened door of the elevator, her sentence hanging, and Leia exhaled in frustration as she followed her, fully prepared to drag her back in, find another way to escape, somehow—

And then she, too, stopped dead right next to her, all the tension and anger evaporating out of thin air upon noticing what Winter was seeing. 

Leia was too busy looking _up_ that she completely missed the sight _down,_ greeting her at the floor of the hangar, a jarring view that somehow fit right along the eerie silence, the dawning night. Leia croaked, breathlessly, “These are—”

_People._

Lots and lots of _people—_ stormtroopers and uniformed officers alike—laying still in various pools of blood, breathless, _dead._ Sprawled haphazardly amidst the parking ships and vessels, perched gracelessly onto the stacked crates and cracked pillars like they were broken rag-dolls, lifeless. _Dead._

When Leia took the leap to the final step—the platform of the hangar—her bare feet made a splattering wet sound, and she looked down to see the skin was now coated with sickening scarlet.

_Blood._

She sensed Winter leaning inexplicably closer to her side, clutching her good arm tightly; could fear her sister’s fear radiating off her body, almost as palpable as the air she was breathing in. 

_There was so much blood._

“What happened _here?”_ Lando whispered, horrified, as he took place next to her, carefully quiet in his each and every step. Behind him, Leia could see blood splattering the underside of Han’s carbonite slab as it moved alongside the Governor, staining the wheels. “They were supposed to have—peaceful extractions—civil arrest—” He was mumbling to himself now, his expression looking nauseous. _“He_ promised me no _bloodshed.”_

Leia wanted to both laugh and cry over Lando’s hopelessness, at his past naivety to take Vader’s promise as something he could put his trust to. “The Empire’s promises were a load of poodoos.” She said, instead, recalling Tarkin’s sickening grin as he ordered his men to fire at Alderaan, anyway—even after Leia had given him an answer, a different target. 

“But who are they fighting against?” Winter piped up, gingerly avoiding the littered bodies as she peered around, “We didn’t send a signal for help to the Alliance, and I don’t see any rebel uniforms here,” She sounded a little relieved at the fact, and, silently, Leia was, too. 

“None of my men, either.” Lando commented, observing his surroundings, his blaster steadily raised as he moved forward. “Not even a single civilian or workers, just—”

“Imperials.” Leia breathed, taking in all the bloodied uniforms, all the staind white armors. The place was eerily silent, filled with oblivious machines and silent corpses, and yet Leia felt something _loud,_ creeping up to her senses, screaming for her to put the facts together, to realize _something—_

“were they… fighting with each other?” Winter asked, voice small, and the incessant tug in Leia’s mind was growing steadily to a _pull,_ telling her to **_think, Leia, think._ **“What could possibly..?”

A memory popped up. 

_“Commander,” Vader, standing in-between her and the troopers, seemingly covering her—covering Luke!—as he said, “Lower your weapons.”_

_But the masked trooper was unfazed, like he didn’t compute the order, and instead straightened his blaster as he stoically replied, “Do not interfere—” he aimed the mouth of the gun low, right at the center of Vader’s respirator, “with the Order.”_

Her sister’s question hung in the air, joining the eerie silence the hangar had been plagued with. Only the sound of the breezes of early night filled the quiet, and Leia felt like the answer she was looking for drifted simultaneously closer and further, just hovering above air enough for her to see, but not enough to reach. 

“Okay.” Said Leia, finally, after a tense moment of silence. She turned to Lando, giving him a sharp glare as she asked, “You know where the Falcon is parked, right?” 

The governor nodded, warily. “Just at the other end of this side, at the repair station—we can walk behind the crates, near the walls to avoid any attention—” He looked up involuntarily to see the Executor, still hovering idly, as if waiting for just the right moment to pounce. 

Leia took a deep breath, nodding. “Okay.” She said again—to herself more than to anybody else as she steeled her resolve. “We can work through this.” She pushed Lando forward, urging him to lead them there, to show where the Falcon was. 

The walk was— _something._ In the silence, every step echoed; the splatter of blood coloring their shoes and her feet, the squelching wet sound bouncing through the walls, the rolls of Han’s carbonite wheels steadily thrumming the granite-glass floors, and their labored, tense breathing—a contrast to the other people laying on the floor, nothing more than a body and a name. 

Death. Death was _everywhere,_ filling her every senses, so thick and palpable it suffocated her, inevitably steering her mind where it shouldn’t be. 

_If this was what the Empire would do to their own people, then—_

She glanced up at Han, frozen in an agonizing pain as the slab rolled on, carbonized in her wake, because she left him _there for their taking._

She thought of Luke, his eyes blown wide in urgency as he struggled to hold Fett, despite his injury—his fate unknown, perhaps worse than death because she left him _there for their taking._

(Leia recalled at the irony of the days before—the last day in the base at Hoth, where she berated them both for leaving the Alliance, the fight. 

_Her._

Oh, how the tables have turned now.) 

When she took her next breath, it was stuttered; shuddering like the rest of her. 

“Leia?” She could hear Winter whispering, beside her, her hand clutching her arm—the one Leia didn’t have the heart to tell her as the bad arm. “Hey, Leia, you’re shaking.” She said, carefully, and Leia could feel feathery traces of Winter’s fingers, caressing her arm. “You alright?” 

Not trusting her voice, Leia nodded, then grasped Winter’s hand tighter. _Stay close,_ she tried to say, mouth gaping open with no words out—only hitched breaths and welled-up eyes. _Stay close. Don’t wander off._

She thought of Han, of _Luke._

_Don’t leave me the way I left them._

“We’re close.” Lando’s voice registered dimly to her conscience, and it was only then did Leia realize that they were already at another side of the hangar. She could see the Executor at a different angle, now, in the thin space between the crates she hid behind. “I don’t think— _gah!”_

Whatever Lando was about to say next, Leia would never know—because she blinked _once,_ and suddenly there was a loud _crash,_ and the crates fell off, and—and Lando was taken down from where he had stood, pinned down by a furry giant growling at him—a person Leia had known so well. 

_“Chewie!”_

_“I’m going to kill you,”_ Chewie growled, low and barely restrained, as he pressed the mouth of his blaster to Lando’s temple. The Governor’s blue suit and white cape was now soaked with the drying bloodstains of the Imperial soldiers down the floor near him, a sight that made Leia grimace. _“What did you do to my boy?!”_

“Chewie, wait—” Winter exclaimed, surprise and panic coating her tone, but Chewie ignored her, seemingly hellbent on glaring at the pinned man below him. If looks could kill, Lando would have been _toasted_ by the Wookie’s death glare.

Beside them, Han’s frozen figure stood still, a silent testament on Lando’s earlier betrayal. “Chewie,” Lando strained, nervously, “Chewie, please, I can explain—”

 _“You can explain all you want to the judges in the afterlife, son, because that’s where I’m going to send you!”_ Chewie roared, pressing his blaster harder to Lando’s exposed forehead, his finger hovering at the trigger—

“He’s with us!” Leia yelled, flailing her hand to Chewie, trying to garner his attention before he could do something regrettable. “Chewie, Lando _helped_ us!” 

At this, Chewie looked up, and it seemed like it was only then did he realize Leia’s and Winter’s presence, his narrowed eyes turning into a surprise. _“Princesses.”_ Said Chewie, slowly, and Leia could see his rigid posture relaxing, his pressed gun loosening. _"Weren't you supposed to be with Fulcrum and Cap?"_ He stared at Winter expectantly, and Leia could see Winter's posture tightening up, her lips thinning to a line at Chewie's question. _"Where are they?"_

Winter opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Leia squeezed her clutched hand and took over before her little sister broke down. "Chewie, Lando—"

 _"And you, Leia,"_ he turned at her, and she felt a sharp jab of surprise at the sudden attention. _"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?"_

"Lost them in a fight, but that's not important; you have to release—"

_"And where's your brother?"_

Her words died in her mouth, barely-scraped control cracking to jagged, sharp shards, prickling her heart. 

Leia suddenly felt her throat drying. 

“they, um—“ she said, voice thick and shaky as she waved a hand weakly to where they came from, to the hallway leading to the elevator. "It's kind of—" she struggled with her words, trying to keep her composure. "They're—stalled, a bit." She tried to downplay it, hoping that it would fool him, would fool _herself,_ enough so the tears wouldn't fall off. "But they'll be here." She took a deep breath. 

"He'll be here," she said, finally, and damn it why was her lower lip _wobbling?_

She closed her eyes and saw _Ahsoka, peering over her shoulder with vibroblades in both arms, ready to take the imperials, standing so close to Vader._

_"They all want you, so get out of here!"_

No, not that. Anything but—

_Luke, glaring at her with pleading eyes, holding Fett with his own body, still spasming from the electrocution burns, wounds still bleeding from all the attacks, the cauterized marks still fresh on his body._

_“Fucking go, Leia!”_

"Soon.” She repeated herself again, more to herself than to anyone else, “He's _going to."_

_Come back to me._

**_I’ll try._ **

She felt her eyes welling up, and blinked several times, bringing her sleeve to erase the droplets before they could fall. Leia Organa—Princess, Senator, General—shouldn’t _cry._ She shouldn’t cry. She shouldn’t—

_“Luke—”_

_“Fucking go, Leia!”_

No. 

Something in Chewie's shyriiwook was so inexplicably soft when he relented, leaning forward to her direction as he said, _"Princess,"_ with the most sympathetic tone possible. 

The way he addressed her made her want to throw a punch to the nearest wall. 

"Just," she shook her head, steeling herself and trying to get the conversation back on track. _Lando. Free Lando._ "Let him go." She said, waving a hand at the disgraced governor under Chewie's crushing knee. "Please? He’s—” She paused, racking her brain for reason to, “Well, so far there wasn’t much redeeming qualities from him—” 

“Wasn’t _much?_ I kriffing _—”_

“But he’s helped us.” Leia ignored him, focusing on talking Chewie out of tearing their aid like an angry Alderaanian wolf-cat, “And—he has a pretty good reason to rat us out.” She gentled her voice, giving Chewie a pleading look. “He was trying to save his people.” 

As annoyed and angered Leia might be with Lando, she couldn’t help but to drift back to her time at the Death Star, where she was willing to name an innocent planet in order to save hers. Be as it may, given the same situation, Leia would do the same. 

Had done the same.

Chewie narrowed his eyes, but finally let Lando go, reluctantly drawing back, giving him room to rise back up. _“You’re lucky my girls like you, Calrissian.”_ Chewie growled, hauling the man to his feet with perhaps more force than necessary. Lando only grunted, before putting himself out of the Wookie’s arm reach. The wookie himself seemed to spare no thoughts to the man, as he turned fully to Leia and Winter, outstretching his arms wide. _“Princesses.”_

Winter wasted no time to throw herself to the Wookie’s warm embrace, no doubt seeking for more reassurance. But Leia stood still, stoic like the carbonite-trapped man beside her, not daring to move even an inch. 

She should take the offer, let herself be comforted, but—

If she did, then she would _break._

(Because people did not know this—can _not_ know this—but Leia Organa _was_ breakable. Leia Organa was many threads stretched to its limits, had been since she was brought to be tortured upon the Death Star, had been since she was forced to watch her own planet disintegrate before her eyes.

But she held still, stayed strong, because if she _broke—_

Her surroundings would _shatter._ )

So she didn’t rush to Chewie’s side, didn’t bury her head to his soft fur and sob, despite how much she wanted to. Instead she cleared her throat, straightened herself and tried to hold off a wince as a sharp pain shot up from her leg, as she said, “We should be heading to the Falcon.” She looked around, warily. “it's not safe out here; open space, dead bodies…” Tilting her head up slightly, she motioned for the hovering warship just at the edge of her peripheral, “Imperial agents, lurking everywhere.” 

Something in Chewie's tone changed as he sheepishly said, _"Not the Falcon."_ He relented the hug to Winter. _"And I wouldn't worry about some of the… imperial agents."_

Turning at him sharply, Leia felt confusion filling her. "What do you mean?" She asked, narrowing her eyes, forehead creasing. 

Chewie grinned, in a way that was half-mischievous, half-hesitant. _"Things happened, when you're gone."_ He said, before turning around, peering at something over his shoulder, as if checking for something. 

"What things?" 

_"Well, the Falcon's a goner, for starters."_ Chewie said, as he beckoned them closer to follow him. Leia noticed how he walked openly in the space, rather than sneaking behind whatever haphazard object that could be used as a shield to hide them. _"Your engineer—"_ he turned at Lando sharply, in a way that made the governor yelp in instinctive fear. _"Stripped the engines for parts instead of fixing them."_

Winter whipped her head up from Chewie's embrace, eyes widening and clearly livid as she said, "you little traitorous bitch—"

"Alright," Lando took a step back, cautiously, and Leia had a feeling that he was mainly trying to avoid being within Winter's arm reach. "Now _that_ wasn't me. I _told_ them to fix it. I swear to _Force,_ that part I was honest—"

Leia held Winter back just as she was about to get her hands over to Lando, presumably to throttle him or something equally as violent. "Not now, Winnie," she said, pulling her little sister to her side, trying to rein her in. Still restraining Winter with one hand, she turned to Chewie, trying to get the conversation back on track. "What else?" 

_"Then we made some new allies."_ Said Chewie, as he took over the handle for Han's Carbonite slab, beckoning them to follow him as he continued to talk. _"Well—actually they made themselves our new ally; it's sort of a blur on who's responsible for that part."_ He said, leading them in-between docked ships and parked vessels and—much to Leia's grimace—more fallen soldiers. _"But the point is that we got some new friends."_

“What new—” Leia began, but paused immediately when she realized where Chewie was stopping, at what vehicle he was climbing up to; it was a vessel just slightly bigger than the Falcon, seemingly a fully functioning mini-warship, based on the designs. 

But that paled in comparison with the one thing that immediately caught Leia's eyes, the one thing she now couldn't look away from. “Chewie,” She said, carefully, quietly, “This is an _imperial ship.”_ her finger pointed at the imperial insignia on the surface of the vessel.

 _“Trust me.”_ He said, softly, as he extended a free hand to offer her help. _“Now come on in.”_

Leia exchanged glances with Winter, and then—reluctantly—to Lando, before finally accepting the hand with her wounded arm, letting the wookie lead the way. Her good hand, though, gripped the handle of her blaster tight, finger hovering over the trigger. 

_Just in case._

What greeted her was— _well._

Quite a sight.

 _"Artoo, how's that engine running?"_ Bellowed Chewie as he entered the vessel, and Leia turned to see where Chewie was looking; straight at the cockpit, where Artoo was indeed present, meddling with the utilities at the dashboard—

With an imperial K2 unit on tow. 

_[Propellers 70% warmed up, all hyperdrives prepped and ready, and navicomputers precise as it could be.]_ Artoo said, without looking up, and Leia saw as he extended his claw absent-mindedly at the K2 unit, stunned when she saw the unit handing the bot something in return, without much of a conflict. _[Threepio's checking on the fuel, but supposedly it is still in ¾ tank—enough for several jumps.]_ Artoo continued, _[20 minutes and we are ready to depart.]_

Leia couldn’t really see Chewie’s expression, but he seemed to be within good nature when he said, _"Good to hear."_ Then the wookie turned somewhere else, and Leia followed, only to find— _"Hey, Four, update on the injury treatments?"_

SH-4, even as he answered Chewie in kind, was still focusing on his task; tending the injured leg of a uniformed officer.

An _imperial_ uniformed officer. 

_[Mister Fel's torso is neatly bandaged, Miss Faro's open wound on her right upper limb has been stitched; the and you can see that I am currently tending the burn marks on Mister Veers' leg by a dollop of toothpaste because we are running out of—]_ The Med-Droid finally looked up, and his previously neutral tone was thrown out of the window when he spotted her. 

_[Miss Leia!]_

The buzz on her surroundings stopped, and Leia could feel every single sentient on the ship was suddenly looking at her, surprised at her presence. 

Granted, she, too, was surprised by _them._

Because the sight before her is _bizarre_ at best; she knew the man SH-4 was helping; Zevulon Veers, a prodigious sergeant who was also son of Maximilian Veers, much older military officer in the Imperial, loyal to the Emperor. 

In fact, she recognized the last names Four had listed; Faro, Fel—those were recognizable officers from the imperial ranks, one that often plastered her mission briefings and alliance meetings. 

She looked down at Veers, finding that the man, too, had looked up on her, establishing eye contact. "You're shorter in person," was what he rasped, voice croaky and a tad judgy.

Leia didn't know how to feel about that, so she only stared, not even trying to form a reply. 

The entire surroundings boggled her so much that she nearly missed the blue astromech Droid bumping her leg excitedly. _[Leia?]_ Bleeped Artoo, his binary rushed as he asked, _[Where are the others? Where is Luke?]_

Doubling over instinctively due to the sharp shots of pain, Leia was secretly thankful to be spared from the responsibility of replying. Because—

_"They all want you, so get out of here!"_

_"Fucking go, Leia!"_

_[Goodness, Miss Leia!]_ She heard another set of beeping binaries, and looked up to see her med-droid fastly approaching _[You are injured!]_ He pushed Artoo aside tactlessly, claw hand reaching to her wound with utmost worry. _[Oh, look at all that blood!]_

Still wary with her surroundings, Leia extended an arm, holding the bot by its cone-shaped head from touching her wounds. "Not so fast, buddy—"

"Did somebody say—oh dear!"

A muffled, mechanical voice she knew slowly grew in volume, going progressively closer, and Leia looked up to see the golden limbs of Threepio appearing from a darkened alcove. 

_("He's like my nanny." She said, absent-mindedly as she leaned to the man behind her; her father, he'd claim himself to be—the one that had built Threepio from scratch._

_Threepio's frozen body was a jarring sight to hold, and though she was often annoyed by his frets, she couldn't help but to instinctively wish for him to move, talk, anything to indicate his presence. "He said I'm the greatest cause for his headache, but I know deep down he likes me."_

_"Of course he does." Mumbled the man to her hair, delicate touches brushing her tied-up locks. He radiated so much love she could almost feel it caressing her skin, enveloping her, as he said, "There's nothing not to like.")_

Threepio's gusto was so genuine and palpable, as he waddled to Leia's direction, his golden plated feet clanking against the steely floor of the ship. "Thank the maker, it is the Princesses!"

She felt relief—perhaps the first true one since _forever—_ at the sight of the protocol droid whole, moving, _alive._ "Threepio," she said breathlessly in return.

Behind him, another form appeared, and it took Leia an embarrassingly long while to figure out that it was a girl, probably around her age. Leia didn't recognize her as anyone from the Empire's military or spy network, but still, she inched closer to Han's side when the girl said, in something akin to pure fascination—

"...wow, is that a Carbonite-frozen _man?"_

Leia took a deep breath, her wariness and distrust resettling in as she glared at the girl, who wore a too-casual attire, almost city-like in her fashion, and Leia knew in that second that this girl had never been exposed to true wars, much less lived through it. “Stop looking at him like he’s some sight in a—”

Whatever she was about to say immediately died in her tongue, dissipating as yet another person climbed out the alcove. She felt her throat drying up as she locked eyes with a man she had seen so often displayed in Alliance meetings. 

_The loyal Imperial, Vader's chosen right-hand—_

“You’re Admiral _Piett.”_ She said, her voice hollow as she felt her body numbing up, her system growing overwhelmingly alerted by every second, as she raised her gun warily to the man. "What in the name of Shiraya is going _on?"_ She gritted, glancing up at Chewie menacingly. 

_Chewie wouldn’t sell them out._

_Would he?_

“Princess,” Firmus Piett waved a hand, making a surrendering gesture, wincing visibly almost immediately, as the white bandage covering his arm seeped with scarlet. “You can lower your weapon, your highness, I will not hurt you.” He said, slightly breathless as he chuckled weakly. “I don’t think I _can,_ actually.”

It was only then did Leia realize the state he was in; leaning upon a nearby pillar, propped by a makeshift crux to keep him standing. He had a bandage _everywhere—_ bacta patch littering his face, a haphazard cloth wrapping his upper hand and thigh. He looked like he’d been through _hell._

The more she spent time trying to analyze everything around her, the more confused she got. So she glared at Chewie, sharp and demanding. “You colluded with an _Imperial?”_ She asked, incredulously. 

_“Imperials,”_ Chewie corrected her, waving a hand at Veers, _“Can’t forget about the tiny guy right there. Plus, there’s more at the back—at the infirmary.”_ He said, good-naturedly. Leia only widened her eyes like he’d grown a second set of head.

“That’s supposed to make it _better?”_

The wookie approached her carefully and laying a gentle hand to her shoulder. _"I think you better sit down."_ He said, softly, before turning to Winter, laying a hand over her as well. _"Get both your wounds treated while we explain."_ He nudged them to sit. 

She tried to open her mouth in protest, but Chewie's persistent push down left her no choice but to follow suit, and next thing she knew she was leaning to a nearby pillar, Winter next to her with a fretting Threepio on tow, as SH-4 finally whirred in glee now that nobody was preventing him from doing his job. Lando, too, took a seat on the far end of the chamber, near the entrance dock, after taking tentative steps around the cockpit. Leia would catch him glancing at the exit warily, as if trying to figure out a time best for escape. 

_"We were compromised."_ Chewie said, patiently, as SH-4 started to clean her injuries with antiseptic. “ _"As you’re fully aware, the governor right there sold us out,"_ he turned to glare at Lando, who instinctively flinched under the Wookie's glare.

Lando piped up, sounding blanched and nervous. "I was doing it for my _people,_ and I had a change of _heart!_ Come on, Man—”

Chewie growled as an answer to the man, which effectively shut the governor up, and Leia couldn't help but to snort at the rather funny dynamic. _"Anyway, like I said, they scavenged the Falcon, just like they did Goldenrod over there."_ Chewie tilted his head slightly at Threepio's direction, who took it as a cue to start talking. 

"Oh, it was awful, Your Highness! I woke up strapped to the back of Master Chewbacca, and there were imperials everywhere—" the Droid launched to a tirade, waddling closer to Leia in a distressed movement, uncaring that he was most definitely cutting Chewie mid-explanation. "And then everyone was shooting at master Luke! The stormtroopers kept mentioning his last name like a broken recording, and I should know because I too often have that issue with my vocal box—"

Leia heard a low, mournful beep coming from the far end of the room, a beep she could recognize everywhere, but was too quick and quiet for her to decipher. Leia tilted her chin a bit, trying to peer past the sentients pooling before her, blocking her view, and caught the sight of Artoo, his dome head hanging low, like he was disappointed at himself. 

Chewie, meanwhile, was trying to retake the lead in the conversation, seemingly disgruntled as he growled to Threepio in annoyance, _"Hey, Goldenrod, I think I got this from here—"_

"—but then! But then, Highness, these gentlemen came!" Threepio, oblivious as ever, waved an excited golden limb at the general area of the wounded imperials; of Piett, still faintly, patiently smiling as if waiting to seize his moment. "And, oh, you wouldn't believe it, your Highness, but they _helped!_ They helped us, and master Luke even managed to escape because of them!" 

Leia felt the first prickle of needle piercing her skin, stitching her up, as she sat there, dumbfounded. Something popped up in her mind; a recent memory.

_Luke, disheveled and breathless, confusion clouding him as he hissed, “How in nine Corellian hells do these troopers keep coming?! They promised to hold them off—”_

She blinked; she thought he meant Chewie, maybe the Droids, or some other strays he collected along the way—for while Leia was skilled with her words, no one could beat Luke's earnest, faithful charm when it comes to recruitment for the rebellion—but never in a million years did she ever think that he meant—

Throwing a glance at Piett, then at his other personnel— _Fel, Veers, Faro—_ she felt like nursing a strong Corellian Brandy to cure her headache, because it just got worse. 

"You're _'they'?"_

Something in Piett's eyes glimmered as he seemed to humor her, echoing, _"'they,'_ your Highness?" 

It felt so odd to be so fondly addressed by a man she often thought as an enemy. "Just—" she closed her eyes, shaking her head, focusing on the sting of the stitches performed by SH-4 to re-center herself, to recuperate. 

Instead she thought about the entire situation; how bizarre it was, how odd the situations leading to it were—

_Vader's Fist shooting their master—_

_Imperials' fighting with one another—_

"Why?" 

The question slipped out of her mouth before she could even _think._ But once it lurched out, Leia couldn't help it. "Why now? Why here?" 

_Why us?_

Piett's smile glimmered, was more calculated, deliberate, peppered with something Leia couldn't quite name. 

"Certain circumstances have recently risen within the inner ranks of the Empire," he carefully chose his words as Leia looked at him expectantly, “It causes some of us to start… evaluating where our loyalties truly lay.”

The answer was as ominous as it gets, but Leia didn't land the seat of the Senate without learning how to spin a wordsmith to her bidding. “And where do yours lay, Admiral?” she said, unwavering and firm, giving Piett a look. 

Piett opened his mouth, then closed it, as if reconsidering his options. "...not with the Emperor."

His hesitation ticked Leia, and she tilted her head, slightly, giving him a suspicious glare. But she sensed honesty to his words, and her conscience was torn, confused at what to do. "So to the alliance, then?" 

The man looked at her, intently, and pressed his mouth slightly tighter. "I pledge my allegiance to those whose motivation is grounded with more… sense, in a manner of speaking." 

The roundabout way he was saying it gave Leia what she needed to know;

_Not to the alliance._

"What changed?" She asked, finally, her glare ever-present but softening, coaxing, trying to draw more truth to rationalize all this. "What aspect had greatly shifted that you needed to perform such a grandeur act—" she paused, wincing slightly as SH-4 started to prickle her wounded arm with his needle, preparing yet another round of stitches. "risking your lives and others under your care—why do all that and risk yourself coming off as an alliance to enemies of the Empire?" 

Hearing this, Piett chuckled, mirthfully so, despite the weak sound. "I left already an enemy to the Empire, Princess; this is simply icing on a cake. Besides—" he paused, quietly, seemingly rethinking. 

Leia raised her eyebrows. "Besides...?"

As if absent-mindedly, Piett commented, more to himself than to her, seemingly; “I care more about my superior’s opinion—and I’d like to think that he will like what I’m doing.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Leia grew even more confused. Piett was an Admiral, and there really weren't many ranks above Admirals. “Your… superior?” she echoed, running her mind through possible scenarios; was he referring to a Governor, or some sort of Oversight Committee—

But it didn’t make sense for those ranks to approve Piett’ _treason._

Something nagged in her head again; that sense of having an answer so close to her sight yet out of reach, and as much as she tried to shake them away the feelings only grew tenfold.

**_Search your feelings…_ **

Leia blinked, immediately slamming the walls of protection around her thoughts, shaking her head. _No._ She told herself, steeling her resolve even as she felt _power_ starting to thrum beneath her fingers. _No._

Even locked out, she could still feel the Force around her hums in disappointment, as she once again rejected them. 

Sighing and clearing her throat, Leia tried to not think about that—instead she looked at Piett, expecting an answer to her query. 

But Piett only shook his head, dismissing the unspoken sentiment. Leia wasn't sure how she felt about that. “No matter.” He said, lightly, as if he was talking about idle things like the weather and not a potential treason on his part. Instead the man turned his attention at the corner of her peripheral, face looking deliberately apologetic. “I apologize for my daughter’s earlier excitement at the state of your, ah, friend.” He diverted, finding a new topic too-casually, waving a good hand to a direction past Leia, and she turned to see—

_Han._

Force, her heart still skipped a devastating beat every time she saw him, every time she remembered. 

_"I'll be alright—now go."_

“She’s a very excitable medical student, you see—it’s not every day that she’s looking at a carbonized man.” He said good naturedly, and it made Leia inch closer to Han's direction protectively, much to SH-4's bleeps of protests. 

Leia snarled snappishly, nerves grated at how idle he referred Han's current suffering. "Well start teaching her some manners." She said, looking up to the girl, who looked part-baffled, part-offended, and part-sheepish. 

At this, the Admiral only gave her a wry smile. "I can see why they make you a General." He said, in a tone that conveyed a truth concealing another—the words in-between what was spoken designed to be uncovered, but indecipherable. Everything about this well-seasoned military man screamed calculation to Leia, and she felt herself straightening in anticipation. “But regarding your friend—” he smiled, evenly, “I think we can help.” 

Leia blinked; once, twice. "Help?" She echoed, confusion clouding her. _More than he already had?_

"Yes, help." He said, rather patiently. "We have a carbonizer in the lower storage. I think we can reverse his, ah, state." He gave her a good-natured smile. 

Leia blinked; once, twice. The question continued to swirl in her mind, begging to be answered. 

_Why?_

She was about to open her mouth, voicing out her queries, when Winter made a chortled sound, like she was choking over something. Leia narrowed her eyes, raising a finger at Piett before turning at her little sister, checking in on her. "Win, are you okay?" 

Winter, too, was perched up at the pillar next to her, legs extending now that Four had finished with Leia and was working on her. She didn't reply to her sister's question, was instead too fixated on the miniaturized datapad on her wrist. Leia furrowed her brows, noticing how pale her sister grew, and every other issue was temporarily halted as she peered over her sister, trying to nudge her to talk. "Win, you look a little pale—"

"The network has just been altered." Was all that she said, ghastly, still focusing on the wristpad. Leia scrunched her eyes to the device and saw the symbol that she knew all too well shining back from the screen, blinking as it gradually grew brighter. "I'm to be in charge of the intel previously belonging to—" she halted herself, glancing up to the imperials warily, as if reminding herself just what kind of people were there with her, listening. "The Original." 

_"Fulcrum isn't just me, you know." Said Fulcrum, when she briefed them formally, her big blue eyes twinkling at Leia and Winter, "that's why all the agents have the same codename; it's more than just people, just sentients—it's a chain."_

_"A chain?" Leia heard Winter's echo, her voice innocently curious._

_"That's right, Princess, a chain." Fulcrum—The Fulcrum, the togruta they knew and love—said, her hand sneaking up to her neck, unlatching her beaded necklace before bringing the pearly bit before the Princesses. "Just like this one; so even when we take one person away—" she demonstrated, plucking one bead out and letting the other beads snap together, closer in its absence, smaller by number but steady and firm as ever. Winter's eyes widened at the necklace, looking up to The Fulcrum—to Ahsoka Tano—in something akin to pure wonder. "the others will still be there to keep the fight alive."_

Winter finally, finally looked up to Leia, her eyes wide and glassy as she let the unspoken hang in the air, informing her sister the bitter truth without saying them out loud. 

_("We'll hold them off!" Leia watched as Fulcrum extended her vibroblades, blocking the troopers before them in a defensive move. Cap himself stood up, aiding the togruta with his impeccable blaster shots "They all want you, so get out of here!"_

_The last thing Leia saw before running was Fulcrum's lekku, flaring as she jumped over one of the troopers. The last thing she saw before she turned at an alleyway was Cap, his white beard scruffled and burnt on the sides, using his body to prevent the soldiers from catching them.)_

As Leia watched her little sister fiddle nervously at the same beaded necklace Fulcrum gave her all those years ago, she realized that every single debacle that had risen since she set foot in this ship suddenly felt insignificant.

 _Was_ insignificant.

Because The Fulcrum—the Original Fulcrum—

_Ahsoka Tano her mentor her friend her sister's guardian—_

—and the Captain—her head royal guard—

_Rex the protector the aid the honorary uncle who loved them like he loved one of his own—_

—had been _compromised._

 _[Chewie,]_ Artoo's binary penetrated through her pained haze, and Leia had barely looked up to the bot as he said, worriedly, _[we have to depart immediately.]_

The wookie roared in confusion; _"why the sudden—?"_

Artoo continued on cue, his mechanical limbs extending frantically, setting the control panel as various lights blinked rapidly under his maintenance. _[the signal had just intercepted a transmission confirming more imperial enforcement coming—]_

"Did you call in on us?" Lando whipped his head to the injured admiral, his tone accusing. 

But Leia only felt honesty as Piett raised a hand in a surrendering motion, giving Lando an even answer. "You can check my devices; I can assure you that this invasion has nothing to do with me." He said, looking at the governor, then at Chewie, who looked at the man warily. "That will be going against what my superior would want, and I really do not want to ruffle his feathers." 

A small part of Leia really wanted to ask who his superior was, why was his approval so important to the Admiral's betrayal, but they all dimmed, paled in comparison when Artoo once again blared, rather urgently,  _ [we have to leave now.]  _

It felt like her heart had skipped a beat, dropping at the bottomless pit of her stomach.

Leia croaked, voice dry and throaty, “Luke’s not here yet.” She turned to Chewie, then to Winter, then to Lando, so desperate in her movement she was practically frantic. “Luke’s still out there, we have to wait—” __

_ [15 minutes until the imperial vessels enter the Bespin atmosphere—] _

_“I think we have to go.”_ Chewie said, warily, as he, too approached the cockpit, checking whatever Artoo was working on, _“Pesky imps won’t stop until they caught every single one of us, and kid got here on his own ship, right? May be he can fly out, comm us when it’s safe—”_

Piett interjected, and Leia had a feeling that he was rather careful and deliberate with his words when he said, “Trust me, your highness, there are more people in this planet that would be interested in your brother’s survival; more than you realize—”

“No!” And now Leia was struggling to stand, her freshly stitched leg straining at the sudden weight but she didn’t care. “I am _not_ going to abandon Luke!” She said, shoving Four away then immediately muttering a panicked apology to the Droid, before huffing to the assembly of men on the ship, looking at her with stunned faces. “He is injured out there, thinking that we will all _wait for him—”_

_(Come back to me._

**_I’ll try.)_ **

“Leia,” Winter tugged the side of her top, and Leia heaved, looked down to her sister, who was tearful herself. “Leia, be _reasonable.”_ She pleaded. “I want to save Luke as much as you do, but risking on staying will increase our chance to be caught—and it will be a _blow_ to the Alliance if they do catch us.” She paused, giving Leia a meaningful, desperate glare, “if they do catch _you.”_

The Princess General pressed her lips shut, not having a proper rebuttal for Winter’s argument. Because logically, Winter was _right;_ Leia was a figurehead to the rebellion, and the news of her capture alone would be enough to sink an already low morale after the loss at Hoth. Not to mention the possible information the imperial agents could scrouge out of _any_ of them when they were in Empire’s custody—

_(“Where is the rebel base, your highness?”_

_“I told you, I don’t know!”)_

But. 

For once, she didn’t want to abide by logic—for once, she wanted to be _selfish;_ to run and grab what was important to her first, before considering what it meant for the Alliance. 

_(“I will not ask again, Princess Leia—where is the rebel base?”_

_“Dantooine!”_

_She pleaded at Tarkin’s smug face at her admission, begged silently as he grinned in such a sickening way at her breathless desperation. She had a feeling that he took it as a personal victory—how her eyes continued to drift back to her home planet, to the planet that was being aimed by this weapon of mass destruction._

_“See, Lord Vader? She could be reasonable.” He turned to Vader, stoic as ever, before waving a hand at the cockpit controllers, “Now gentlemen—aim for Alderaan; fire at will.”)_

“Give me ten minutes.” She said, finally, after several seconds of silence. “If I don’t make it in ten minutes, then you leave.” She snatched Winter’s shoes right off her sister’s feet, putting it to her own with much struggle. 

Winter yelped, eyes widening as she straightened up, trying to stand as well. “Leia, you’re _insane—”_

“Ten minutes.” She insisted, grabbing her blaster from the floor, making sure her comms was still in her pocket, before limping at the landing dock, moving fast so no one would be able to hold her back—not that they would dare to. 

She ran before they could say anything else to reply to her. 

Upon actually reaching outside, she slowed down her steps, walking carefully timid, glancing at the hovering vessel above her every once in a while. True, Chewie had said that the ship had been idle and they were too small for it to notice their movements, but she didn't want to take any chances to get caught.

Not when she was literally so close to freedom; when all she had to do was find Luke and drag him back to the admiral's ship.

Something tugged her chest, something so similar to her gut feeling but not _quite_ , guiding her through the dead bodies, parked vessels, and haphazard cargoes. Like strings of fate, threads of connection—guiding her to her _brother._

(She refused to think that it was the Force; There would be a time where she could truly dwell on just how deep the power sank its claws to her life, but that time would not be right now. 

She did not need another thing to fester like an untended wound, feeding her anxiety.) 

The instinct brought her to another part of the hangar, a different corner from where Lando had led them to. She could hear muffled screams and deep, unsettling noises carried out by the wind, washed out enough that the words were lost on her, but not the emotions. 

_Luke,_ her heartstrings tugged; _Luke is close._

_Luke is afraid._

_(and there was someone else, too; someone dark and desperate and **angry—)** _

_someone Leia felt she recognized but couldn't quite name—)_

And so Leia clocked her blaster and approached closer, to this opening that seemed to lead somewhere below. The winds blew harder but the words became clearer, and Leia cursed her injured leg for not allowing her to—

"...he lied to you!"

She froze. Just behind the crater separating her and the gateway, her entire body seized up. 

Because she knew that _voice._

_("Where is the rebel base, your highness?"_

_"I told you, I don't know—")_

Leia could feel her body locking up, her heart beating quick as one name jumped to her conscience, playing on a loop. Words ceased to hold meaning on her—blurring and put aside in favor of one name and one name only, blaring in her head, louder than any noises outside;

 _Vader._

"he corrupted you, just like he corrupted her—" the mechanical voice boomed, echoing through the steely pillars and glass walls that made up the building, shaking the entire ground below her feet.

Her mind was numb with but one thing; _She had to run. She had to get out of here._

After the dinner, and the fighting, she could not possibly—

_("I am going to ask again, your highness; where is the rebel base?"_

_"Stop it—it hurts! Stop it!")_

She refused to face him again. She wouldn't be able to face him again—

_"Argh!"_

Pause. 

Her heartstrings were tugged—and suddenly her word was realigned back to her axis, her thoughts slapped back to reality. 

Because just like she had recognized those mechanical growls everywhere, she could also recognize the agonized wail; it was a voice she knew older than time, almost as ancient as her own existence.

Her twin brother.

 _Luke._

and so Leia forced herself to _breathe;_ to _move;_ to _act._ Walk, one foot after another. Raise the blaster and be ready—because that was what she was here for, was it not? 

She was here to save her brother. To drag his stupid, heroic, self-sacrificial ass to safety. 

Leia Organa could not afford to be afraid—not when her brother's life was at stake. 

And so she numbed herself; emptied herself sans for the desire to save him, and let that motivation be her sole fuel as she ran—

"I did not kill your father—"

Turn, slide, halt, just right at the side of the gateway, her movement stealthy and her form hidden as her blaster was aimed to fire, eyes zeroing on the target—

_("Get out of my head! Get out, out, out!"_

_"Resisting to give me an answer will only make it harder for you.")_

Hand pressing fully on the trigger, blaster set straight—

"I _am_ your father."

 _Bang._

(What?)

The shot drifted in slow motion, aided by a seemingly halting time, as Leia watched the pressurized ion make its way to Vader's respirator, hitting the box straight and making a firework. 

(What?)

Vader seemed to recoil, and Leia shot again, eyes glued at his monstrous mask even as she crouched down to grab Luke, who was crawling on his back to the top of the stairs. The cyborg clutched his chest, and Leia shot again. 

_(What?)_

And again.

_(What?)_

And again. 

**_(What?)_ **

Something in the air seemed to snap; like a thick fog dissipating, a blinding haze disappearing, and as Leia was looking down at Luke, noticing how he only had _one arm_ instead of _two,_ she heard it;

A cold, robotic sound—

_A yearning, shocked voice—_

_"Lai-yah?"_

_("I am your father.")_

"Get away—" Leia growled, and her surroundings seemed to _sing_ with sickening glee, feeding her anger and fear to its peak, "from my _brother."_

Time stopped. 

There was only the sounds of their breathing; Luke's labored ones, Leia's hisses, and Vader's mechanical intakes and outtakes. 

Time stopped. 

And as Leia locked eyes with the holes of his mask, she could feel her mind whirring; processing; _thinking._

Time stopped. 

_("IT-O, dispose more of the drugs. I want to try something new.")_

Time stopped.

_("I don't want to hurt you. Please—I just want to see you.")_

"Lai-yah—"

Time started. 

She shot again—not square on his chest, this time, not a shot that sent his suit into another bout of fireworks, because her hand was shaking. Was trembling. Was so close to collapsing. 

"Lei." It was Luke's voice who grounded her, Luke, who was the very last thread of her sanity, so Leia looked down, focused on him. _"Lei."_

(His face battered his torso burned his leg bent at an odd angle his arm _gone—)_

"He—" Leia gulped, feeling her tears brimming at her lids, ready to fall. "He did this to you?" She traced the stump, where his arm was just mere hours ago, mere _minutes ago—_

Luke sighed, eyes fluttering in loss, in pain, in confusion.

In _fear._

"Lei, he said—"

"Ssh," she shushed him, putting one finger over his lips. "Save your strength, Farmboy." She whispered, her voice croaky and faint, muffled to his hair, "I got you." She continued as she hauled him up, focusing on him, on him, on him—

_("I am your father.")_

"I _got you."_ She repeated, dragging him from the stairs and onto the platform, focusing on only him, only him, only him—

_("I am your father.")_

Her finger worked on its own, dialing Chewie's commlink without her even looking. When the line was answered, her voice was almost robotic as she said, "I'm with Luke—we're at the northwest section—"

Chewie's bark was the only clarity to her head right now, a curt order she could follow. _"Go to the edge, we're flying there to get you."_

She was already several steps away, so close to the edge of the hangar, mind nearly numb and blank from anything but the need to get Luke to safety, get them to escape, when—

 _"Lai-yah,_ I am—"

_("Where is the rebel base, your highness?")_

Leia turned; shot her blaster so many _times_ she lost count, her aim a complete mess as her sight blurred, her chest heaving and her head pounding. "I said get _away!"_ She screeched, dragging Luke with her as she walked backwards, her injured arm hugging him tight. 

Vader was struggling in his step—just one more staircase before the hangar's platform—taking all the shots Leia had to offer, doing very little to defend himself. 

His deep, mechanical voice boomed once more, "Luke, Lai-yah, I'm—"

_("I am your father.")_

"Do you not understand _basic?!"_ Leia's voice cracked at the pitch, and she felt like she was just one step closer to insanity as she shrieked at him, "do I have to speak with you in _binary?!"_

**_I—_ **

Leia froze.

A tentative, _human_ voice, filled with yearning and regret so palpable and thick she could taste it—

**_I didn't mean to._ **

—echoed _inside_ her _head._

_("IT-O, dispose more of the drugs. I want to try something new.")_

**_Lai-yah,_ ** the voice said, so soft and kind and _human,_ a voice that continued to visit her in her dreams, a voice that she trusted, had _believed in,_ had sought _comfort from;_ **_Luke, I am—_ **

_("Where is the rebel base, your highness?")_

**_so—_ **

_("Are you here?" Leia looked up to the man, Sandy blonde hair and saddened smile and a jagged scar on his left eye, "alive, I mean?"_

_The hands around her shoulders tightened, and Leia heard a reluctant, yearning, regretful, "yes."_

_"Then where were you?")_

**_sorry—_ **

_(A monstrously tall figure, a dark, eyeless mask, looming over her menacingly as she whimpered._

_"This will only be harder for you if you resist, your highness.")_

"Get out of my head."

Her voice felt otherworldly, her sight blurring as her arms shook like a leaf. Leia's grip on Luke tightened subconsciously as she held her blaster tighter, so tight the handle _cracked._

**_Wait, Lai-yah, I can explain—_ **

_("Playing hard to get, I see.")_

Leia's breathing was shallow; her ears were buzzing, her head pounding. Every instinct in her body told her to run, get away, escape. "Leave me _alone—"_

**_No, sweetheart, please—_ **

Her head. He was inside her head; he might sound different than his inhuman voice echoing like all those years ago, when he destroyed and crushed her memories, her wishes, her dreams, _her._

But—

_("No matter; sooner or later, you will yield, and the information will be mine.")_

**_Lai-yah—_ **

Leia Organa _broke._

She screamed, agonizingly hysterical, as she collapsed to the floor, bringing her twin with her. Her blaster cluttered down the glass floor as she used the hand to cover one ear, pressing the other ear to Luke's chest, hoping that the voice in her head would go away, away, _away—_

(And she didn't notice this, could not have noticed this, but the floor beneath her cracked; the crates around her crunched, the steels wrinkling and the woods snapping; the ground shook causing the haphazardly stacked spare parts to lose balance and fall.

She didn't notice this, could not have noticed this, but Luke's face turned into shock and fear, his previously relieved face now uncertain; and Vader, _oh,_ beneath that mask was a broken man, heart snapped to little pieces looking at the sight of her breakdown, scarred face contorted into agony at the knowledge of what he had done to her, to him, to _them—_

She was right after all; Leia Organa broke, and her surroundings _shattered.)_

"Leia," dimly, she registered someone calling her name—Luke? "Lei—oh, _Force—_ hey—"

_("Where is the rebel base, your highness?")_

"I got you—Leia, Leilila, Lei-Lei, I _got you—_ you're alright, I'm right _here—"_

There were footsteps, uniformed and approaching, growing increasingly near to their direction. And somewhere within her, she knew she had to snap out, had to escape, had to _move her legs and get running._

But—

_("Where is the rebel base, your highness?")_

She heard a vague buzz on her back, like something was running—a machine?—but she didn't have the energy to look. Her surroundings had cracked and broken and she couldn't even look at that, too afraid to open her eyes as she pressed herself to Luke even tighter. 

_This._ A small, coherent part of her lamented bemusedly; _this would be her demise._

**_No!_ **

One second, she was impossibly close to Luke, burying her head to his chest as he buried his to her shoulder, and then the next thing she knew—

Someone hauled her up. 

Wait, no, someone hauled her and Luke _up;_ slotted them to his shoulders so delicately careful despite the quick movement, and _ran;_ ran like Leia had never known before. 

Her mind was boggled, but she could see shadows of stormtroopers, uniformedly running behind them. Could see how their steps were eerily in sync in their pursuit of her brother. She turned, and her blurred eyesight could find Luke, face gaping wide as he looked to the black form that carried them, the form whose identity Leia couldn't—

(Wouldn't—)

—register.

She took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of herself, but then the buzzing behind her grew louder, and there were muffled voices she knew but could not put a name, words screamed that she caught but not understood. 

_"Leia, Luke, over he—what?"_

"Oh my, oh by the maker, are they—?" 

"Is that—is that _Darth_ —carrying my—?" 

And then her carrier _jumped;_ held them so tightly like he was afraid to let go, and took a leap. For a split second Leia could see nothing beneath her feet, his feet, their feet—just open sky and clouds, just a path to free-fall to. 

Then they hit cold steel; cramped space; people peering over her. She could hear Luke groaning, could hear Threepio fretting, could feel Winter's delicate fingers as she tugged her arm, exclaiming, "Leilila, oh _shit—"_

Could hear the buzz of the machine as something was snapped closed, could feel the floor sped up as the vessel took off, could register Chewie roaring to something, to someone, in such crude shyriiwook if Leia were just a little more sober she would wince at the sharpness of his tongue.

But.

None of that registered to her. None of that reached her conscience. None of that made her laugh, or cry, or scream. 

Leia Organa laid on the floor, one hand was gripping her brother's shirt, and another crushing her sister's open palm as she tried to breathe. Her eyes were dazed, and her mind registered on one thing and one thing only even as the chaos around her unfolded—

("Citizens of Bespin, it has come to my attention that the Planet is being taken over by the Empire—"

"Oh, Dear; are those _imperial ships coming our way?"_

"Where's Luke's other _arm?!"_

_"You slithery bastard—you didn't tell me your superior is—!"_

"All in due time, Chewbacca—trust me, I am _still on your side."_

"We are entering hyperspace.")

—and that was the masked man looking over her and Luke, the man she had shot repetitiously minutes prior, the man that had broken into her head without permission, the one cutting up Luke's arm. 

"Lai-yah, Luke, stay awake—" a gloved hand extended, and Leia flinched at the prospect of the contact, only for the hand to be slapped away—

"Don't touch my siblings!" 

The masked man ignored the warning, and Winter was gone, suddenly, from Leia's reach; her yelp faraway, accompanied by a crashing sound that caused the older sister to instinctively wince. The man seemed ignorant at the ruckus he created, choosing to loom closer to her and Luke, and all she could think of was—

_"Where is the rebel base, your highness?"_

_("I am your father.")_

"it's alright—" 

_"Where is the rebel base, your highness?"_

_("I am your father.")_

Leia flinched, inching further in fear as the masked man zeroed onto her. "Get off me." She muttered, energy draining out of her as she made one last effort to shrug him off, to bury her head in Luke's chest. 

To hide, hide, hide.

_She was so tired. On Force she was so exhausted—stretched beyond measure and now all that was left of her was nothing more than a limp ragdoll._

But _Vader_ was relentless, and his finger hovered over the side of her face, close enough to touch though he didn't, the tips ghosting over her marred skin. "Please—"

_("I am your father.")_

"Go away." She could hear Luke mumbling, his voice rumbling his chest she pressed her head upon as she succumbed to the darkness, letting the exhaustion overtake her. "Go _away."_

_("I am your father.")_

"Lai-yah, Luke—"

_("I am your father.")_

"I'm _sorry."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is the last part before the next installment! I hope you guys stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter as I scream my love for the Skywalker Twins, it's @surabayuh!


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